


A Time for Myths

by AlleycatAngst



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Betrayal, Court Sorcerer Merlin, Gen, Land of Magic, Magic Revealed, Secrets Shared, Time of Myth, True-Love Freya, War, uniting Albion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-19 13:06:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11898351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleycatAngst/pseuds/AlleycatAngst
Summary: The border between Camelot and Aquitane has been closed for decades. On one side, magic is evil and sorcerers hunted, on the other magic is unchecked, a natural part of every day life. Now on a diplomatic mission to see this land and discuss reopening trade and travel routes between the kingdoms, Arthur takes his knights and trusted servant Merlin into a land where magic runs wild and free.In Merlin's mind, it could mean an end to the persecution of magic, and the end to the lies that have built up between him and Arthur. If perhaps the king of Camelot sees the wonder and good service of magic, he could come out of hiding and start healing the wounds Uther's reign had caused.But there are more dangerous secrets in Aquitane than either King Arthur or Legendary Emrys could ever foresee.COMPLETE!





	1. A Diplomatic Mission

CAMELOT

              Arthur laid awake for hours, but he waited until the early morning sun started to rise before he pushed back his bedroll and stood up. Leon took the last watch before dawn. Arthur nodded at him, the gesture making it clear he wasn’t in the mood for any further interaction.

              A bird perched on Arthur’s horse, talons trembling as it balanced precariously on his curiously placid war-beast. “Shoo,” Arthur said irritably, waving in the bird’s direction.

              It blinked its large golden eyes at him, looking vaguely insulted. It stared fearlessly at him as he approached, and only when he was a few feet away did Arthur realize he didn’t have a plan for this development.

              They stared at each other.

              “That’s got to be an omen of some kind,” Leon said. Arthur jumped. He often forgot how quietly the knight could move.

               Arthur felt the old claws of superstition curl around his heart, then banished them with a growl. “It’s just a bird. Get Gwaine to bring it down so we have something to put in our stew tonight.”

              It squawked indignantly, but Arthur's mind was already on other things. They still had five days hard ride to Camelot, and he dreaded every moment of it. Once he rode back into the walls of his own city, this whole nightmarish mission would become too real.

              The stream was a good ten minutes’ walk, but Leon knew better than to follow him. If still felt odd, not to have a shadow at his shoulder, complaining and keeping both their minds busy on something other than duty.

              He’d be bloody glad when they got out of this forest.

              He trudged back to the camp in the same silence, to find the rest of the knights awake, and armored, their horses already packed. Most of the knights grouped together and talking quietly. They turned as he approached.

              The bird had hopped off the horse and now perched on a log next to Gwaine, eating a few pieces of dried meat the knight had torn from his rations. Arthur had never seen him so withdrawn and silent before, but none of them would ever be the same.

              “Mount up,” he told the group quietly, and they obeyed immediately and without question. No food, barely any rest, but they all thought the same way. Gwaine stood, brushing salt from his breeches.

              “Merlin wouldn’t let us go on like this,” he muttered quietly. Not quietly enough.

              “Merlin’s dead,” Arthur said, his voice suddenly hoarse with the weight of those words. “Just... ride.”

###

THE BORDER

SIXTEEN DAYS EARLIER

              The old signpost had recently been repainted. The words in old faded red paint traced over with a new, steadier hand. The road was as empty as it had been for the past twenty miles, and overgrown with sweet-smelling plants, a testament to the abandoned bond between Camelot and Aquitane.

              Whoever repainted the sign had also set out a few logs for the knights to rest upon while their horses grazed.

              Arthur was already working himself into a huff, mostly out of boredom.

              “I _told_ you we’d be early,” Merlin reminded him. “But _no,_ we always have to set out at _dawn_.”

              Arthur rolled his head on his shoulders, trying to work out a crick that had been drawing a headache for hours. “I am the king, _Merlin_ ,” he said irritably. “A servant would hardly know the intricacy of a diplomatic meeting.”

              “If they were going to ambush us, they’d hardly wait until the day of the meeting to do it. In an empty field, after the letter Murdock sent.”

              “You are unbearably chipper this morning,” the king said, looking like he’d quite like to throttle the manservant with his own neckerchief.

              “We’ve never been to a kingdom of magic before,” Merlin said.

              “And that makes you _happy?_ ”

              Merlin was saved from answering by Elyan’s raised call. “I see a rider!” the knight called to his companions.

              They all squinted to the horizon to see that there was indeed a man riding hard and well, his body blending seamlessly with the movement of his horse as they flew from between the trees towards Camelot’s envoy.

              Arthur’s guard rearranged themselves as the stranger drew near. He leaned back in the saddle, drawing his horse into a natural trot before slowing even further and drawing up to the post that marked the border of the two kingdoms.

              The new arrival had a roguish good-nature about his thin face. The horse he rode was huge and black, and even Arthur eyed it with envy. It was immediately apparent that the man was a full-blooded Aquitani, his wide eyes and thin bladed nose almost a caricature of his people.

              The knights barred his progress, keeping the stranger at bay, while still appearing unthreatening. The closer the stranger came, the more Arthur’s group strained their necks to take in his features. It was a _really_ big horse.

              “Are you the escort ?” Arthur said, and even though his voice was carefully flat. anyone could tell that this would be a grave insult. A king did not send a single soldier to guide another king through his lands, much less a single man in worn travelling clothes.

              “Aye,” the man said, dismounting and executing an elegant bow in one fluid motion. “ My name’s Jack Trevellar, and it is an honor to meet you, King Arthur Pendragon.”

              Arthur nodded to accept the greeting. The rest of the knights bowed a little, more out of confusion than respect, but Trevellar took it in his stride. “My, they breed ‘em big in Camelot, don’t they?” he said, tilting his head back to take in Percival’s stature.

              “These are the king’s guard,” Arthur said. “My most loyal and trusted soldiers.”

              “I have no doubt,” Trevellar said with an easy smile. “You look every inch the dragon-slayers we’ve heard about. Aside from him, of course.”

              The sudden shift on focus confused Merlin, who realized that Jack Trevallar was now looking in his direction.

              “My manservant,” Arthur said stiffly. “Merlin.”

              “Ah, I see,” Trevellar said, his smile fading a little. “There has been precious little communication between our kingdoms. We thought perhaps you would bring your queen, and some nobles who might be persuaded to re-build the old trade routes.”

              “My Queen rules while I am away, and Camelot’s nobles must tend to their lands and people as winter approaches. This visit is to reestablish contact with Murdoch himself. I am sure that when all goes well, we will be able to discuss more specific treaties later.”

              Trevellar nodded, then bowed acknowledgement. “It is wise to be cautious, your majesty. But pray let us put your mind at rest. I believe our people have been separated for too long already.”

              “Who are you then?” Leon broke in, unafraid to break convention, “to know the business of our kings?”

              “I apologize,” Trevellar said, apparently taken aback by this frank phrasing. “I am Jack Trevellar, advisor and personal sorcerer to King Murdoch and the Aquitani people.”

              The change in the air was immediate, the knights simultaneously slipped their hands to their swords, a few clasping their protective amulets tightly to their chests.

              “You’re a… a sorcerer?” Arthur asked.

              Jack snorted, not seeming to notice how the mood had changed. “The king would hardly send just anyone to guard the king of Camelot. There’s plenty between the border and the castle that could cause trouble for even such experienced warriors.”

              Merlin himself couldn’t help but feel a little suspicious. He had not met very many good sorcerers, but they had been hiding who they were so that they could kill his king. To have one so blatantly announce himself, and his intention to _guard_ Arthur just felt… bizarre.

              “I scried ahead and saw that you were to arrive earlier than scheduled. Shall we make use of this light? It will still take days to reach the castle, but I believe it will pass quickly as we learn more about each other.”

              Merlin fought the urge to laugh as Arthur and the knights hesitated. A man just told them that he used magic. That he was an accomplished magician. And he was expecting them to mount up and follow him into unknown territory possibly full of waiting assassins.

              “Yes,” Arthur said at last. “I daresay we have much to learn of your customs.”

              Arthur mounted his horse first. Only because Merlin knew him so well did he see the fear on his king’s face. This meeting with Murdoch must be more important that the king had let on after the war council. That thought sobered the manservant as he mounted his spotted gelding and nudged it to follow the king's stallion.

              But the moment they crossed the post, into the border of the Aquitani kingdom, he almost fell off his horse as a new sense assaulted him. For a moment, he thought he had maybe been hit in the chest, the feeling was so _real_. But he understood it in an instant, as if someone had whispered it in his ear.

              Magic was _happy_ here.

              Never before had he thought about magic as feeling anything. He had always treated it like a tool, or like fire he had to keep contained and always under control for fear it might seek a way out.

              Now, it nudged at his mind and heart like a puppy blindly seeking its mother’s approval. It wanted to leap and bound and _play._ It wanted to show off.

              “Merlin?”

              Arthur’s voice was tentative, concerned. He looked up to see the group looking at him. The knights uneasiness showed in the way that their horses shifted. Had they felt something? They must have, even if they didn’t know what it was. He smiled and nudged his horse into motion. “Sorry,” he said.

              He could see that Arthur wanted to mutter something about his fluff-brained idiocy, but the king appeared to be restraining himself in front of Trevellar, who gazed at Merlin with a faint frown creasing the space between his eyebrows.

              Merlin gave the stranger what he imagined was a disarming smile. “Sorry,” he repeated.

              But when Trevellar’s frown deepened, his eyes changing focus, Merlin realized with an unpleasant jolt that the man had probably felt the magic react to him. He realized that he too could feel Trevellar’s touch with magic, the well within the sorcerer and the tight control that the older man had over the power around him.

              His smile faded, his heartbeat suddenly growing loud in his own ears. Would Trevellar expose him here? Now? But eventually Trevellar shrugged, and turned around in his saddle once more, leaving Merlin’s palms sweating and his stomach rolling.

              Nobody seemed to notice anything amiss, and Trevellar said only: “We’ll make good time. King Murdoch is most anxious to meet with you.”

              Perhaps it was Merlin;s unique relationship with magic that gave him the ability to sense Trevellar’s power. With this overly-optimistic thought he managed to calm his racing heart as he nudged his horse into motion, following Arthur and the knights into the foreign land.

###

CAMELOT

              The damn bird did not go away. It flew above them for the next five days, keeping by Gwaine’s side but always, constantly staring at Arthur, it’s head cocked, vocalizing harsh shrieks at random intervals.

              It was deeply unsettling, and maddening but Gwaine refused to let anyone touch the bird. “Avis,” he called it, a name that it answered to almost like a dog.

              Arthur had sent Leon ahead to Camelot, so that when they arrived Gwen had dismissed all the pomp and pleasantry that usually greeted the king back to Camelot. It was early morning and those who were awake were too busy setting up shop and spending the early morning hours on practical tasks to mark the return of Arthur and his knights.

              The castle was quiet too. Gwen greeted them at the entrance to the castle, her beautiful face stern and unreadable to anyone but him. He saw the slight downward turn of her lips, the deep sadness in her eyes.

              They had been close, Gwen and Merlin. Perhaps not so much in recent months with Gwen studying her queenly duties and taking the reigns more and more in council meetings, but there was a bond that had once caused Arthur a few unjust twinges of jealousy. Now he realized as he saw her that there were questions he needed to ask. Uncomfortable, painful questions.

              Avis took off from Gwaine’s horse, fluttering about the courtyard until it found a place on one of the elegantly carved banisters, just out of reach of a palace guard.

              She descended the steps as he dismounted. The grooms took the horses away, and the knights followed leaving the king and queen surrounded by silent, still guards.

               “Arthur,” she said quietly. “What happened? Leon said Merlin--”

              “Did you know?” Arthur asked, lowering his voice so that they could not be overheard, but impressing each word forcefully.

              She frowned at him, looking still more confused and now a little defensive. She didn’t ask him what he meant, so he elaborated for her, drawing closer. “Did you know he was a sorcerer?”

             


	2. Hidden

AQUITANE

              SIXTEEN DAYS AGO

              They travelled far the first day, Trevellar doing his best to ease the company. He asked only a few questions at the start, but the knights were not trained courtiers and Arthur, though pleasant, seemed wary to speak too much, so Trevellar rambled on about Aquitane and himself, and the king. Anything to keep the awkward silence at bay.

              It was Merlin who eventually took up the task, and found that the ride was far more pleasant while he was distracted by stories of everyday magic in Aquitane.

              “I would love to see Camelot,” Trevellar confessed. “Our people use magic for just about anything you can imagine, so when technology finds its way across the border it takes the whole country by storm. Our tradesmen spend _months_ replicating your mechanical wonders. You can imagine how well trade between our two kingdoms would flourish.”

              “Why even bother when you have magic?” Merlin asked, intrigued.

              Trevellar smiled. “Not everyone has magic. A vast majority of Aquitani citizens couldn’t light a candle without matches. It is far easier to use a lock than to pay a sorcerer to renew your wards every month.”

              These small revelations were not unappreciated by Arthur. Merlin could see Arthur thinking, but he could not guess at what. He didn’t dare hope that Arthur might be considering the advantages of bringing magic to Camelot.

              “Do you not have… evil sorcerers?” Merlin asked Trevellar, somewhat timidly. He wasn’t sure if the sorcerer would take offense at the question.

              “Of course,” Trevellar sighed. “Bandits, outlaws. Greedy and power-hungry people thrive in any kingdom. It is the way of the whole world I’m afraid.”

              He wouldn’t elaborate on these threats, evading any further pressing of the matter by changing the subject to the upcoming meeting between Arthur and Murdoch. 

              They set up camp in a patch of trees halfway up a mountain side. They were all exhausted and the horses were breathing heavily. The knights flinched when Trevellar lit the fire with a word. They kept their hands on their swords as the sorcerer set about making the camp muttering spells and humming a little under his breath.

              Merlin watched with hungry fascination. How much easier and faster it was to put together a meal when magic took over the chore. He didn’t think Trevellar was showing off, in fact the man seemed blind to the effect it was having on his party.

              The knights and Arthur didn’t eat much, though Merlin tucked in heartily to the rabbit and vegetable stew. “Gwaine has first watch tonight,” Arthur said, putting his nearly untouched food down. “Then Percival, and I’ll take the final shift.”

              “There’s no need,” Trevellar was quick to protest. “I’ve set wards all around our camp. No one will bother us.”

              “We appreciate your protection,” Arthur said diplomatically, if a little dispassionately, “Please accept ours as well.”

              Trevellar shrugged. “If it will make you more comfortable.”

              Arthur nodded and took up his dinner again, but he didn’t look any happier to have gotten his way.

              ###

              CAMELOT

              “I knew,” Gaius said defiantly. The physician was sitting at the table at the edge of his work room, looking exhausted, but his eyes blazed with a challenge as he told his king the truth. “Of course I knew.”

              Arthur sat heavily on the steps in the middle of the chamber. Suddenly his whole body ached from the ride and his eyes burned with tiredness. “How long?” he asked. “How long had he been doing magic?”

              “As long as I knew him. Since he was born was his mother’s account. I still have her letter, the one she sent me, explaining.”

              Arthur looked up. “Is that possible? To be born with it?”

              Gaius shrugged. “It’s magic, Arthur. The lines between possible and impossible blur until both are true.”

              Arthur leaned forward and buried his head in his hands. “I know why he didn’t tell me,” he said. “Of course… I know… I was so _angry_ , Gaius. But it was too late, he was already dying. He died to save me, and how can I be angry at him now?”

              “Was it… How did it happen?” Gaius asked, his voice trembling.

              Arthur straightened his shoulders and tried not to remember his servant’s body on the stone plinth, surrounded by strangers muttering arcane spells and touching him with threads of blinding light. Jack Trevellar, blood on his hands. Blood under his nails as he held the mortal wound open, brows furrowed in abstract concentration.

              They had _dissected_ him. He had been dead for days by the time Arthur forced his way into their ‘infirmary’. Dead and frozen in a rictus of agony, a painting of his final moments at Aquitani hands.

              How much Merlin must have suffered with those strangers, tortured with magic? He had to clear his throat to answer Gaius. “It was quick,” he lied. “He was… he didn’t have time to… He took a sword blow meant for me. He died to save me. To save Camelot.”

              Gaius waved a hand to stop him from speaking any further and Arthur fell silent. He knew it was no comfort. Merlin was like a son to the physician, and Arthur could never hope to be worth that sacrifice. He could never even match it.

              “I owe him everything,” he said. “Gaius. I need you to tell me about his magic. I need to know.”

              Gaius took a deep breath and nodded, staring blankly at the wall. “I will tell you everything, your majesty. Everything I know,” he said. “But not tonight. I can’t tonight.”

              Arthur nodded. “I understand,” he said, the words sounding hollow in his own ears. “Thank you.”

              He hesitated, unwilling to leave. There was one more thing he wanted. He needed to do. “May I…” he paused, unsure of how to ask. He didn’t want to be refused, but Gaius had been through so much pain already.

              His eyes travelled to the door across the chamber. Merlin’s room. From his gaze, Gaius seemed to understand. “It hardly matters now,” the physician said. “You know everything already.”

              Arthur was saved from having to reply by the appearance of his wife. Gwen slipped through the infirmary doors and immediately let out a soft cry as she caught sight of the healer’s face. “Gaius,” she said, her voice breaking. “Gaius, I’m so sorry.”

              She had not yet forgiven him for the way he had talked to her on the steps. And he was too tired to think of a way to make it up to her now. Instead he left her to comfort the old man. If anyone could do it, Gwen could.

              And he crossed the chamber to Merlin’s room.

              ###

              AQUITANE

              15 DAYS AGO

              In the middle of the night, Merlin was shaken awake by a strange sound. The forest was _humming_. Merlin looked around to see if anyone else had been woken, but even the sentry, Percival, had fallen asleep, his large body cradled in the roots of the tree as it rocked gently, crooning a wordless lullaby.

              He looked round carefully to see that the only member of their group that was missing was Jack Trevellar. His heart sank even as he quietly slipped out of his bedroll. “Arthur?” he whispered harshly to the lump of that was the sleeping king.

              No answer. He knew that there would be no waking _anyone_ from this supernatural slumber.

              But with his ears straining to hear past the tree’s otherworldly singing, he heard something else. A voice. Jack’s voice rising in argument.

              Merlin crept towards the edge of the clearing, to a dark copse of trees and through the silhouette of dark branches, he caught sight of the sorcerer, Jack Trevellar.

              The wizard seemed to be deep in conversation with a wolf. Jack was talking, breaking every few minutes for replies that Merlin couldn’t hear. Merlin crept carefully into the clearing. Though he was sure he had not made a noise, the animal turned large, intelligent yellow eyes on him.

              It growled, its hackles rising, and Merlin froze.

              Jack nudged the wolf with his knee and made an annoyed tsking sound. “It’s fine,” he said. “This is the one I was telling you about.”

              He rose to his feet and Merlin tensed, pulling on his store of magic so that he would be ready for any attack. The wolf too was still braced to spring at him. Only Trevellar seemed unconcerned to find Merlin spying on him.

              “You’ve hidden yourself well,” the Aquitani sorcerer said, dusting leaves from his knees. “Right under the nose of the king…. I am assuming he doesn’t know?”

              Merlin said nothing. So the sorcerer had noticed. What did this mean? What angle did he think he could play Merlin for? He waited, drawing still more power to the ready. He hadn’t fought many magical battles, and when he did, the advantage of surprise and brute strength had always been on his side. An aquitani would probably be more practiced and artful that the sorcerers he had faced in Camelot.

              But to his confusion, Trevellar didn’t seem to be preparing for a battle. The other sorcerer sighed and rubbed the back of his head with a fist. “King Arthur is under my protection,” he said at last. “I cannot allow any harm to come to him while he is on King Murdoch’s land.”

              Merlin blinked, he let the magic he had been gathering go, to return to the furnace. “What?”

              “He might be a tyrant,” Jack said drily, “but he’s under my protection until he’s returned to his own lands. You’re of course free to take refuge in Aquitani, as long as you obey the rules and respect our people.”

              For a moment, he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He was so taken aback by the implication that _he_ was trying to harm Arthur. “He’s not a tyrant,” he finally managed to voice.

              Trevellar’s eyes rose, but he seemed to understand in an instant. “You _serve_ him?” he asked. “After everything he’s done?”

              Merlin felt his anger flare and the magic around him, that saturated this land—it pooled hot and ready in his stomach. “He’s a good man. A good king. If you don’t believe that, why are we even here? Why try to negotiate with Camelot?”

              The wolf growled at his tone, but Merlin didn’t back down, setting a defensive stance. But to his surprise, Trevellar started to laugh. “By all the gods. It _is_ you, isn’t it? Even when I felt you had magic—I didn’t believe… I don’t believe--”

              A concerned yip drew the sorcerer’s attention to the beast at his side. “Oh Leif, if you could only _feel_ it. The whole _forest_ speaking for him. He’s going to set of an earthquake, and I don’t think he’s even _trying_. The damn diviners were right. Oh, Murdoch’s never going to let me live this down.”

              “What are you talking about?” Merlin asked, faltering.

              Trevellar’s smile didn’t disappear, and his eyes still sparkled with mirth. “Emrys,” he said. “You’re finally here.”


	3. Chapter 3

CAMELOT

 

              The room was everything that Arthur had thought of his servant. Practical, a little untidy, but all the belongings were polished and valued. He was a country boy to the core, reasonable and sensible. Books and scrolls were tucked haphazardly anywhere they could fit. Arthur had known that Merlin was studious, he supposed that as a physician’s apprentice it was understandable, but clearly he had underestimated how much Merlin _liked_ to learn.

              Or was that another lie? Had Merlin hidden his ambition to learn in case anyone started to sniff about for sorcery? Scholars always drew the most attention and accusations in times of superstition.

              For a moment he stood in the center of the room, unsure of his next step. He wasn’t sure why he had come here in the first place. An old part of him wanted to say he was investigating. Merlin was a sorcerer, and somehow was a trusted advisor. A _servant_ was part of the _court_ for god’s sake. How had he never questioned that?

              He looked over the books on the desk, delicately clearing the pages. Lists of herbs and their uses. Things that any apothecary had a right to know. He had been copying it down into a new book, something of a personal journal filled with recipes and lessons from Gaius.

              It looked like a more likely source for the information Arthur was looking for. He half-hoped for some kind of diary entry, but there was nothing of the sort, only a few doodles in the margins. Merlin seemed to talent with drawing, no doubt enforced by all the drawings of leaves, anatomical drawings, flowers, and roots he had dutifully copied onto the pages from various texts.

              But the sketches done from boredom were far more interesting. Faces, symbols, and strange looking creatures all vied for space in Merlin’s steady hand. It wasn’t much of a clue, but Arthur had nothing else until Gaius was ready to talk.

              Arthur took the book from the table, handling it like an ancient and priceless relic. There would be much to discover, no doubt. Arthur was determined to understand the mysteries of Merlin, the man who had died to save him.

             

###

AQUITANE

15 DAYS AGO

              The sat facing each other, backs to the trees. Trevellar had conjured up a ball of soft yellow light that floated over them, illuminating the two men and the wolf.

              “Everyone knows the legends of Emrys,” Jack said. “But they’re _ancient_. Older than written language. I always thought they were fairy tales. Happy endings to children’s stories. Murdoch’s diviners have been muttering portents for months about the coming of Emrys into Aquitane, and then with King Arthur agreeing to open the old roads again… I thoughts they were simply over-excited. You know what diviners are like.”

              “Not…” Merlin fought the urge to feel ashamed. He lifted his head and grimaced. “Not really.”

              “Oh.” Trevellar’s smile suddenly faded. “You really have no magical training? No… practice?”

              “I’ve had plenty of practice,” Merlin was quick to assure him. “I find books sometimes, the ones that haven’t been burned. My mentor, Gaius did his best. But he was no great sorcerer himself… more like a scholar.”

              “I suppose I never imagined that Emrys would need training. In my mind, he was always this great, tall man with a grey beard who could do… well… anything.  It’s dangerous for the magically talented to go untrained. I’m surprised you’ve survived this long without being consumed.”

              The wolf at his side whined and pawed at Trevellar’s foot to gain the sorcerer’s attention. He looked down. “Not now,” he snapped irritably, sending the large beasts ears back in fear. The wolf huffed and sank its head down in its paws, properly cowed.

              “You can talk to animals?” Merlin asked, a question that had been bothering him for a while now.

              Jack huffed a laugh, though whatever the creature had said had obviously made him uncomfortable. “Hardly. Animals don’t talk, really. Everything to them is tied with instinct, and learning how to speak isn’t part of that. This is Leif, my apprentice.”

              “A shapeshifter?”

              “Not exactly. He’s safe inside the walls of Murdoch’s castle with an armed guard making sure that no harm falls on him. He’s the eyes and ears of Murdoch in Aquitane, and runs messages all over the kingdom. He’s just borrowing the wolf, travelling inside it,” Trevellar said. “You’ve never travelled before?”

              Merlin had to repress the urge to roll his eyes. No matter how friendly and clumsy Trevellar seemed to be, he was still a powerful sorcerer, and Merlin was learning more in this conversation than he ever had in all the years studying dusty books in a foreign language.

              “Could you teach me?” he asked.

              Jack looked startled. “Me?” he asked, rocking back a little bit. Then he smiled. “Of course! Travelling is a tricky subject, but every sorcerer should know how to use it. A large part of separating spirit from body is meditation, and while travelling, access to magic is limited… It will help with your control.”

              The wolf at his side, his apprentice, gave a little noise of annoyance, but Trevellar didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were lighting up with new fervor. “Yes,” he promised. “I’ll teach you everything I know.”

             

###

CAMELOT

              The book sat on the council table. It looked innocent enough, but Arthur held his chin and frowned at it. There were more questions than answers inside that leather binding and he now felt more frustrated and confused than ever. No. He was angry, the kind of anger that came from boiling down pain until there was nothing left but _rage_ at the one who had hurt him.

              Merlin was supposed to be his _friend_. Merlin was tactless and heartfelt. He was clumsy and earnest. He looked at Arthur like the king was the reason the sun rose in the morning, and at the same time didn’t hesitate to call him any number of nonsensical insults.

              The Merlin he knew didn’t lie. Didn’t battle magical creatures. Had no great secrets except for how he managed to get the rust out of Arthur’s chainmail so quickly.

              “Your majesty?”

              He looked up to see his council looking at him with some concern. There were a dozen nobles, his knights, and Gwen. Some eyes were on the journal he had been brooding on, but the room was hung on the next words out of his mouth. He should have been listening to the careful arguments the council had laid before him.

              But he and Gwen had decided before they had even stepped foot inside the council chamber.

              “Peace,” he said. “At least for now.”

              “We wait?” Percival said, and because it was not often that the knight spoke, Arthur turned his full attention to him. “They tried to _kill_ us.”

              “A _faction_ tried to kill us,” he reminded them dispassionately. “And they saw us safely back to the border without further incident. Innocent people will suffer if we declare war.”

              “ _Innocents_?” Lord Ya-tireth said incredulously. “They are sorcerers, all of them! Not a one has clean hands.”

              “So genocide would be your answer?” Arthur said as calmly as he could. Ya-tireth held a large portion of Camelot’s grain fields, and though Arthur would have liked to have thrown the man out of the council years ago, now was not time to play with those stakes.

              “It’s what your father would have done.”

              “It is what his father did do,” Gwaine muttered, his voice dark and loud enough to be heard across the chamber. “But he killed his own people, inside his own borders.”

              “That kind of talk is dangerously close to treason,” Ya-Tireth spat venomously.

              “We are in a position of power,” Elyan said, drawing the talk back to the task at hand. “Peace is an admirable goal, but we have to have some assurance that the men who attacked us are accounted for and punished. We cannot run back to Camelot with our tails between our legs and wave over the walls. Conditions should be met.”

              “They killed Merlin,” Gwaine said, leaning forward. “I am all for peace, but that needs to be answered.”

              Arthur nodded thoughtfully. It was a compromise, one that showed all the signs of sparing human lives. The whole council seemed to agree, even Lord Ya-Tireth. The old bore had a soft spot for Merlin. If only he knew that Merlin had magic, that he had been a _sorcerer_ …

              “Then let’s talk over our terms,” he said, settling back in his chair for what would no doubt be another long dance of politics.

             

###

AQUITANE

TWO WEEKS AGO

             

              Every night Merlin learned as the knights slept, coddled by the land. He spent all day half-dozing in his saddle, talking very little and only just managing to stay on his horse. His companions were worried, but Merlin laughed away their concern with weak excuses.

              He soaked up knowledge like a water-starved plant. Trevellar seemed as eager to teach as Merlin was to learn. The Aquitani sorcerer could not believe how quickly Merlin was taking to even the most complex magical practices. In a few days Merlin had mastered travelling, summoning, and scrying. In a cup of water he could see Gaius bent over his potions and Gwen signing documents and holding court over squabbling nobles.

              The days passed quickly for him, too quickly. He barely had time to see the country flying by or any of the miraculous displays of magic in the townships that set Arthur and the knights into spells of tense stillness. How could he resist the temptations that surrounded him? Magic came to him like a playful puppy, eager to be played with, quick to find its own entertainment if he didn’t keep its attention.

              More than a few times his experiments had unforeseen complications, like Gwaine’s horse suddenly growing horns, or the lion on Percival’s standard roaming about the borders of its crest for a full day. Both times had put Arthur into a foul temper not even Merlin could rouse him to good spirits for hours.

              Each time one of his companions shied away from magic, Merlin felt his reality like a douse of cold water. The task of returning magic to Camelot seemed more daunting than ever.

              A half day’s ride from Murdoch’s castle they stopped in a tavern. The town was little more than a village but for the market that bustled in the early morning sun and the sturdy buildings at the center of commerce. Everyone was tired, even Jack Trevellar, who must have been at least as tired as Merlin but was better at hiding it.

              There were little words spoken among the company as they took to their rooms. Merlin waited inside Arthurs room, already planning his escape to go see the market and the strange works of magic it might hold, but instead of getting undressed and demanding chores to be done before the ride to King Murdoch’s castle the following day, Arthur sat on the bed and stripped his own boots off.

              “You should sleep,” he said. “You look like you’ve lost a fight with a dragon.”

              Merlin huffed a laugh. “Thank you.” He said, turning to the door. It would be easier than expected then, to sneak away from the tavern.

              “Sleep here,” Arthur said, stopping Merlin in his tracks. “There’s two beds and I would rather share with you than any of the knights. All them snore like bloody bears.”

              It had been years since Merlin had shared a room with Arthur. He was the King of Camelot now. There were quarters for servants downstairs. Merlin told all of this to Arthur, who snorted. “Don’t be an idiot, Merlin. Besides, I don’t think you’re going to make it down the stairs.”

              Merlin really was too tired to argue, and he figured after a few hours’ sleep, the market would be in full afternoon swing, bustling with traders and wares and no one would notice a foreigner asking strange questions or blinking like an idiot at what must be commonplace magic.

              He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

###

              And awoke to Arthur attempting to sneak out of the room.

              “What are you doing?” he croaked blearily.

              Arthur froze in place, one hand on the door, the other holding onto a pair of sturdy leather boots. He turned and Merlin was astonished to see a rueful grin on his face. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered. “Everything’s fine.”

              Instead, Merlin sat upright, rubbing the weariness out of his eyes. He had slept for only a few hours, long enough for his limbs to become heavy and his eyelids to feel like sandpaper. He blinked and frowned up at the King of Camelot, who was wearing a plain linen shirt and worn breeches. “You’re going outside,” he accused Arthur.

              He was rewarded with a sheepish, one-shoulder shrug. “I know absolutely nothing about Aquitane,” Arthur said. “If we’re going to reopen trade routes, I’d like to see what the people are like. Without their sorcerer peering over my shoulder. Or a knight flinching at every unusual thing they see.”

              Merlin stared at Arthur, and felt something strange and warm bloom in his chest. Arthur was curious… about Aquitane. About _magic_. He threw back the covers. “I’m coming with you,” he said.

              “ _Merlin_ ,” Arthur hissed.

              “Me or the knights?” Merlin said. “You’re not going out there alone.”

              “Then hurry up,” Arthur muttered. “We don’t have time to argue. Leon is going to come back to to guard the door any moment now.”

              Merlin pulled his shoes on quickly and they left quickly. The tavern was loud enough to mask any sounds they made as they left their rooms. Nobody marked them at all as they slipped down the stairs and through the tavern’s lively afternoon crowd out onto the street.

              It was a day that Merlin would forever remember, not just because of the magic he saw, but because for the first time since he had known Arthur, he saw the king softening towards magic. They passed by a pen filled with tiny winged horses that came up to Merlin’s knee and Arthur stopped to feed them a handful of hay.

              They each paid three brass coins to watch a man perform illusions, turning his conjured tree into a flock of birds to a tiny rainstorm, to a pool of molten gold that glittered in the afternoon light like a miniature sun. Stalls of potions that promised advantages in every field, small carts that trundled along the sidewalk with hundreds of amulets shifting against each other in a pleasantly musical sound.

              And among all these strange sights were the commonplace merchants. Fishermen and butchers, book-binders, masons, and toy stores.

              It was everything Merlin had imagined and more.

              It was, of course, too good to last.

              “I’ll read your fortune,” the young woman said, ducking even as a bar swung from behind her, catching Merlin and Arthur by surprise. “I’ve the strongest luck in the Haymarket. Is it love you seek? A lady whose favors you would like to scry? I can tell you how she feels, tell you how her father thinks so you may gain favor. I’m never wrong.”

              “I’ve found my lady,” Arthur aid, a smile tugging at his features. No doubt he thought this was a gypsy girl looking to trade vague prophecies for a coin or two. There were many in Camelot as well, who would risk a night in the cells for a chance at a hot meal. But Merlin could feel a glimmer of magic working in her, she was using it all the time.

              “Oh, I can see you have now,” she said to Arthur with a roguish wink, an unpracticed gesture on her young face. “Quite a lovely lady, too. What about your friend?” she said abruptly rounding on Merlin. “He looks the lonely type.”

              Arthur snorted. “Good luck with that,” he said. “In all the years, I’ve known him, he’s not once talked about a girl.”

              But his expression stilled as he caught sight of Merlin’s face. Of course at the first mention of love, Freya’s shy smile curled unbidden into his thoughts. She was delicate in the torchlight, hope in both their minds. “No thank you,” Merlin mumbled as the girl danced backwards in front of him, trying to keep a step in front of them as they walked up the cobblestone street. He remembered Freya’s ice-blue eyes. The tilt of her head when she realized she didn’t have to be alone.

              He walked straight into the little fortune-teller, not expecting the young girl to stop. Her brow was furrowed with sadness as she reached out to clasp his wrist. Arthur tried to push her out of the way, but she swayed nimbly out of his grasp. “I’m sorry,” she said, and it was so soft that the rest of the market seemed to fade away.

              “Let go of him,” Arthur said, but Merlin was looking into the girl’s eyes and he knew that she knew. Somehow she had called Freya to his mind. He could feel her there now, studying that frail memory like it was a scene from a play.

              “She was beautiful,” the girl said, and her eyes flashed briefly with the sorrow that wasn’t hers. Merlin’s heart felt like it was being folded in two. There had never been any witness to his love, no one other than him who knew what he and Freya had had even been real.

              “She was,” was the only thing he could think of to say.

              “You’ll never find another,” she said. “Not a love like that.”

              “Merlin,” Arthur said harshly, but he had stopped trying to tear Merlin away. He was strangely pale.

              Merlin realized he was crying, and he swiped the tears from his face angrily. The girl was yanked away from him by the back of her collar. She let go of Merlin, screeching angrily, before she was turned to face Jack who considered her coldly.

              “I think you’ve done enough damage today, Miss Cornish.”

              She folded her hands demurely, a blush starting on her cheeks. “I didn’t know they was with you,” she said, slipping into street cant. It sounded almost like mockery. Trevellar certainly seemed to think so. He scowled at her.

              “If I see you plying fortunes in the market square again, I’ll make sure you end up somewhere you’ll not see _any_ future at all.”

              She nodded, bowed once to Arthur and Merlin, and ran back into the dissipating crowds. Trevellar turned back to them with an apologetic smile. “She’s harmless,” he said. “She just plays with forces she shouldn’t. Soon she’ll be old enough to apprentice, and a master will put teach her some manners.”

              “Can she really tell fortunes?” Arthur asked, Merlin could tell the meeting had shaken the king.

               “It’s hard to say. Destiny is nebulous at the best of times. It’s pasts and presents that she probably uses to guess the future. She is quite good, for her age, at seeing a person’s past.” Trevellar shrugged. “She won’t bother you again. Come, there was quite a racket raised when we realized you were gone.

              He jerked his head up the street and Merlin followed first. He could sense that Arthur was itching with questions. He ignored his king, concentrating instead on swallowing the painful memories, and trying to forget a lovely, cat-like smile.

# # #

             

              “Sit with me,” Arthur said quietly.

              Merlin looked at the fire, merrily crackling in the hearth, and the plate of fruit and wine sitting between the two overstuffed chairs. He was exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to fall back into his bed, but his magic was like fire in his veins, heady and intoxicating. He wouldn’t be able to sleep for hours.

              He sat in the offered chair, dragging Arthur’s boots and a polishing rag into his lap. If he was going to sit here, he might as well get something done.

              For a moment it was almost peaceful.

              “Who was the girl?” Arthur asked quietly his voice almost lost in the crackling of the fire, and the steady brush of cotton against leather.

              “What girl?” Merlin said automatically, trying to stall. 

               Arthur gave him the familiar grimace that usually accompanied ‘ _Don’t call me a moron’_ , but it was slower, gentler this time. “You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “If you don’t want to.”

              Merlin shook his head. “It was a long time ago, and she died. There’s not much else to say.”

              “When?”

              Merlin wrinkled his forehead, trying to remember the years. They all seemed to slip by so quickly. “Three years ago? Maybe four?”

              “I knew you then,” Arthur said absently, as if confirming something for himself, then turned his attention back to Merlin.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

              “You helped, in your own way. I didn’t want to talk about it.”

              “Why? I would have… I don’t know. I don’t know what I would have done, but I would have done something.”

              The silence between them grew for a moment, the crackling fire and the slow, steady brush of bristles against leather as Merlin worked the travel out of Arthur’s boots.

              “What was her name?” Arthur asked.

              Merlin almost couldn’t speak through the lump in his throat. When had it become so hard to remember her? The largest part of him wanted to fight like an animal to keep her name to himself. He didn’t want to share any part of those memories. He wanted to keep her and her smile—brighter and more distinct in its secrecy, unmuddied by explanations and descriptions that could never do her justice.

              But there was another part too, that wanted so badly for her to exist in someone else’s thoughts as well. She had existed. And she burned so bright, but sometimes he wondered if it happened at all. As hard as he tried to bury the memory of sharing his magic, of forgetting destiny and duty for a _single_ instant, he couldn’t bury her as well. He cherished the memories in isolation, like a greed-poisoned merchant coveted his most precious jewel.

              “Her name was Freya,” he said.

              “Who was she?” Arthur asked, and it was a question that the stupid prince would ask. As if her station or occupation would tell him everything he was obviously burning to know.

              _A chimera_ , he could say, and laugh all the way to a madhouse.

              _A druid,_ he could whisper, and Arthur would never trust him again.

              _A killer_ , he could confess, and suffer in the cells for his years of silence.

              And deep, from the thoughts he would never admit to thinking, it swam to the tip of his tongue, hovering like a snake choosing the moment to strike _. The girl you killed._

He had been silent for too long. Arthur sighed, his index finger tapping impatiently against his knee as he stared into the fire—an unhappy crease between his eyebrows. “Sometimes Merlin, I feel like I don’t know you at all. It is frightening, how much I trust you when you clearly have so many secrets.”

              “Not so many,” Merlin rasped through the lump in his throat.

              Arthur shook his head as if clearing it of the cobwebs laid there by Merlin and Freya. “Why don’t you get some rest?” he said. "You look half-dead.”

              Taking the dismissal in his stride, Merlin stood. It felt odd, to leave Arthur alone there, angry and confused. Before he slipped into the bed he had claimed, he hesitated, fighting again to reveal a weakness. “She liked strawberries,” he said, feeling embarrassed as how insignificant it sounded.

              Before the king could answer, if he had an answer to that, Merlin pulled the sheets over himself and turned away. His thoughts were harder to dismiss, but he resolutely busied himself with other anxieties.

              Tomorrow they would meet King Murdoch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, forgive any typos. My fever broke today!


	4. For King and Country

###

CAMELOT

              Gwaine was kicked out of three taverns in Camelot before he found the fight he was spoiling for. Avis, the strange bird, followed him inside each one, causing general havoc. But in the last bar, the patrons were too drunk to mind the _rats,_ much less a strange hawk.

              Gwaine was quite drunk by that time as well, swiping at the fluttering wings with increasingly clumsy hands. “Go bother Percival,” he muttered blearily, earning an indignant screech from his feathered companion as he managed to unbalance it from its perch on the edge of the bar. “Or Leon. Or Elyan. Or Arthur for god’s sake. I’m not giving you anything to eat.”

              He was half-hoping that someone else would start the barfight, but he didn’t have long to wait until someone leaned against the bar on his side and a slurring voice, full of latent aggression, spoke up. “I know you.”

              Gwaine turned, and then leaned back to look up at the huge man who had just accosted him. “I think I would have remembered a face like that,” he said. “Or is it your mother I would recognize?”

              He hadn’t been expecting the man to slam his head onto the bar. He had drunk more ale than he meant to. But the rush in his veins was quick to match the buzz in his head, and as he slipped off his stool, he picked up the seat and smashed it across the big man’s side.

              The rest of the men in the bar quickly chose sides. The bird was screeching in the rafters, desperate, unhappy sounds quickly lost in the chaos. Gwaine fought hard and dirty, downing his opponent and quickly finding another.

              He found a kind of peace as he fought, because this was an enemy he could beat, a battle he could win. But it couldn’t last forever, and as someone shoved a splintered table leg into his sternum and another man picked his legs from underneath him, he realized that he had made a mistake.

              It had been too long. He was too drunk. Merlin should have found him by now, dragged him back to the castle to face whatever menial task Arthur deemed a worthy punishment. He was in a tavern he didn’t know, fighting thieves and dissidents and someone might well have recognized him.

              He lashed out reflexively, getting in a few shots and finding his feet again before something stung his side and he was looking down at a shard of wood sticking out between his ribs. With a roar of anger he knocked his assailant out with a single blow and staggered sideways to lean against the bar.

              The wound was shallow, and bled only a little as he pulled the offending object out of his side. A _spoon_. He began to laugh as he sat down on a barstool, removing himself from the melee still raging behind him.

              His tankard was still miraculously unharmed. The pain in his side burned a little, but he paid it no mind. Avis wasn’t screaming anymore and Gwaine looked up to the rafters to look for the damned bird. Only to see an empty space.

              Somehow, he was still laughing, but it felt hollow in his chest.

              He swallowed the rest of his ale and turned back to the brawl, ignoring the warm blood soaking into his shirt.

###

              Arthur woke to a strange croaking sound and the feeling of pinpricks on his chest. He was splayed aross the bed, one hand tucked underneath the pillows that should have been the form of Gwen.

              But it was late, she had probably already supervising the household and servants.

              And there was something sitting on his chest. He opened his eyes slowly, his heart racing, sure that he would find a hag sitting on his chest, feeding his nightmares.

              Two golden eyes stared down at him, and the goddamn bird chirped out a soft, anxious sound. Artur launched himself up, flailing through his tangle of bedsheets. “You—”

              The following expletives were lost in between his grunts of exertion as he tried to find the floor with his feet and his sword with a hand still trapped inside his blankets. Avis jumped away and fluttered to Arthur’s desk, looking on innocently as Arthur curdled the air between them with dire threats and insults.

              The bird cocked its head as finally Arthur towered over it, sword ready in hand. Once again it proved fearless, and only let out a strange, chiding squawk.

              “What do you want?” Arthur asked it, catching his breath and considering his next move. He wasn’t going to _kill_ the bird, of course. Striking down an animal with his sword was a special kind of brutality.

              As if in Answer, Avis gave a satisfied croak and fluttered to the door. It pecked on the wood, in a way that a bird of prey would _never_ peck anything. Arthur eyed it suspiciously, prickling with a familiar suspicion that there was something _off_ about the hawk. “If this is some kind of trick,” he said. “I will have you plucked and roasted.”

              He hastily threw on some clothes and opened the door to be greeted by Ardas and Gul, two of the palace guards. “Fetch Percival, would you?” he told them as he laced up his shirt, walking quickly down the hall. “I’ll need an escort… somewhere.”

              The bird was clearly leading him down the hall towards the steps. It wanted him out of the castle. He followed the sparrow-hawk flying from sconce to sconce, barely waiting for him to catch up before it flew on to the next one.

              The guard ran on ahead.

              By the time Arthur reached the gates to find Percival in full armor with their horses, he was almost at a full sprint. “What’s going on?” the big knight asked as Arthur mounted up and swung his horse to the gates.

              “I’ll tell you when I know myself,” Arthur said. He didn’t want to hear how mad he would sound if he told the knight they were following the hawk that had haunted them on their journey back to Camelot.

              But he would have to notice anyway, with Arthur’s neck constantly craning up to see the bird circling above, waiting for them to catch up. If he found it strange, the knight said nothing. If anything, he seemed to ride harder.

              But Arthur had his limits, as they neared the gates of Camelot, he forced his horse to slow. Outside the gates, an ambush could lie in wait, and he was by now almost certain that the sparrow-hawk was either created or influenced by magic. Finally Avis dived into the clutter of buildings that made up the main thoroughfare.

              The way was cleared for him. If anybody didn’t recognize his face, Percival’s royal red cape and the fine horses identified them both as being from the palace. They parted for Arthur to lead his horse down one alleyway and the next. The walls grew tighter, and while Arthur had explored the castle and surrounding city many times in his youth, he was now almost certain they were lost.

              It was the screeching that led them to Gwaine. Arthur knew who it was even while his friend was facedown in the mud, his clothes spoiled thoroughly by blood, dirt, and ale that smelled like rat piss.

              Percival muttered an oath behind him, and they both dismounted at once. _Not Gwaine_ , he thought, his heart heavy and tight. _Not now. Not like this, you drunken fool._

              Avis was making soft crooning sounds, shuffling awkwardly in the mud around Gwaine’s head. “Is he..?” Percival asked, hushed.

              Their guide chose that moment to strain its neck and bite down on Gwaine’s ear.

              The sound that erupted from the man in the mud was so much like the high-pitched scream of a girl that Arthur allowed one hiccup of relieved laughter out of his mouth. “Bloody… bird,” Gwaine shouted, blinking blearily around at his surroundings. “I _told_ you—”

              He staggered to his feet and flailed at Avis, spinning around as Avis dodged him, until he faced Arthur and Percival. He stopped dead. “What--?”

              Arthur was tempted to start laughing again, but Percival was quick to shove past him to support his drunken comrade. “You’re bleeding,” he said urgently. “Gwaine, are you—”

              “I’m fine,” Gwaine said irritably but he didn’t shove Percival away. “I think my ear suffered more damage. What are you two doing here?”

              Arthur could see that wasn’t true. The wound in Gwaine’s side might have stopped bleeding, but by the amount of blood soaked into his side, running almost to his knees, he needed a physician, and quickly if an infection was to be avoided.

              “You’re a fool,” the king spat. “A drunken, _careless_ fool.”

              But he helped the knight onto Percival’s horse and held him there while Percival slid into the saddle to hold him more securely. As he mounted his own horse, he didn’t miss Percival’s voice firmly shutting down Gwaine’s rebellious mutterings.

              “I have lost enough brothers,” the big knight said quietly.

              Gwaine didn’t make another sound. Percival never talked about his family, the wound would always be fresh, and the knights knew to respect that.

              Arthur didn’t look back, but led them slowly out of the alley on a much less frantic procession back to the castle. Avis perched on between his horse’s ears like a figurehead, mumbling to itself in bird language.

              “Thank you,” he muttered under his breath to the hawk, feeling increasingly silly.

              It turned its large yellow eyes at him, and gave one regal nod. He shivered.

###

AQUITANE

TEN DAYS AGO

              After the austerity of the Camelot court, where Uther had dressed his nobles almost exclusively in battle gear and sensible leather, the nobles of this court had wardrobes that defied sense. The nobles were like peacocks, strutting and gliding through the halls with gaudy trains of manservants and maids in equally rich clothing. They turned their noses up at Arthur and the knights, clearly uninterested in travel stained, weary soldiers. If anything, they were confused by Merlin’s station, possibly because he was wearing his favorite blue neckerchief and no distinguishable uniform.

               The palace itself held the bones of the same architecture as the castle of Camelot, but there were differences.

              Like the carvings that occupied every inch of space in the columns and walls, depicting ancient battles, gods, and heroes. Merlin didn’t look to closely at many f them, the detail was unnerving. There was also what looked like a complicated fountain of blood in the central courtyard. “An unfortunate side-effect,” Trevellar explained as the procession stopped to take in the barbaric sight. “Our last king, Janus, spelled the water to smell of roses. It worked, but we understand it doesn’t look very inviting.”

              The air did smell of flowers-- a cloying sweetness that stayed in Merlin’s throat and turned his tongue sour. Trevellar laughed at the sight of them all trying to politely compliment the stench. “You’ll get used to it after a while,” he said. “Murdoch is desperate to get rid of the thing, but the castle seems to like it.”

              “The _castle_ …” Arthur trailed off and Merlin thought that maybe the king had realized he didn’t want to know.

              Trevellar, wisely, didn’t explain any more. “If you’ll follow the footmen, you’ll be taken to your rooms. Murdoch hold court in an hour, and he’ll present you then. If you need anything, just alert one of the servants. They’ll see you settled in.”

              Arthur nodded. He hesitated, not yet turning to the footman in blue livery waiting for him. Merlin and the knights didn’t move either, many of them exchanging puzzled glances. Jack Trevellar also looked worried, and actually _flinched_ as Arthur’s hand was thrust in front of him.

              “Thank you,” Arthur said gruffly.

              “Oh,” Jack gingerly look Arthur’s hand. “That’s… you’re quite… welcome.”

              Merlin felt something strange and warm in his stomach as he watched. The knights shifted uncomfortably behind him, but even their unease couldn’t shake the warm feeling. Yes. This was the first step. This was progress after so many years of battles fought and failed in secret.

              Trevellar had done what Merlin never could. He had been a true ambassador to magic. Non-threatening. Friendly. Informative. He was every bit the ambassador to magic that Merlin had hoped to find in Aquitane. Arthur _trusted_ a sorcerer.

              It only hurt a little, that the sorcerer wasn’t him.

              Arthur stepped away and nodded to Trevellar’s deep bow. Then he turned and followed the footman. He didn’t look back, and so Merlin stayed behind, watching his king disappear. “He’s quite safe,” Trevellar said, misinterpreting that look as one of concern. “Every precaution has been set.”

              “I know,” Merlin said, turning back to his teacher. “Thank you.”

              “Must I really give you servants quarters?” Jack asked, turning and indicating for Merlin to follow him. “I’m pretty sure my master would have whipped me black and blue if he found out I was keeping _Emrys_ in a broom cupboard.”

              “Well he won’t,” Merlin promised with a smile. “I won’t be spending much time in my quarters anyway.”

              “If your king only _knew_ he had the world’s most powerful sorcerer cleaning his boots—” he let out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “The threads of your destiny are as tangled as a sparrow’s nest. Proof the gods have a sense of humor.”

              “Where are we going?” Merlin asked suddenly, realizing they were walking through a large hall. Surely the servants quarters would be near the kitchen, or off the main hallways where they could perform their duties without being noticed by the lords and ladies.

              Jack braced a friendly arm around his shoulders. “To see King Murdoch,” he said.

              “ _What?_ ” Merlin yelped, rocking back on his heels to stop.

              “He already knows,” Trevellar said. “I sent Leif ahead with the news.”

              At Merlin’s shocked expression he frowned. “We had to. He’s had the diviners bending his ear for months to invite Arthur on the off-chance that peace talks would attract the attention of Emrys. I’m Murdoch’s court sorcerer, Merlin. You do understand that my loyalty can never be questioned?”

              Merlin’s thoughts seemed to be working in slow motion. Somehow, he had imagined that Trevellar would keep his secret. Even from Murdoch. He wondered now why he felt panic. Trevellar sighed and took Merlin’s shoulders, forcing him to look up.

              “You are Emrys,” he said. “ _I’m_ saying that and I’ve been the only skeptic in Murdoch’s ear for decades now. You are the one to unite Albion, and restore magic to the faded lands. This,” he gestured to the grand hall behind him, and somehow implying the king waiting somewhere for their appearance, “is part of that destiny _.”_

Merlin nodded. “but I’m not… I’ve barely learned anything.”

              Trevellar smiled at him. “He knows everything, Merlin. If anything he’s more eager to meet you. All he wants is to talk. You’re perhaps the only person who an tell us what Camelot is really like, whether it will be safe for our merchants, whether our peace will actually work, much less last.”

              Until then Merlin hadn’t really thought about this. If Trevellar was the perfect ambassador to Aquitane, then he had to match it for Camelot. Trevellar had won Arthur’s trust, and now Merlin must do the same.

              For Camelot. For Magic.

###


	5. Halfway

AQUITANE

TEN DAYS AGO

              There were only two people in the throne room when Trevellar and Merlin entered. King Murdoch sat on his throne at the center of what looked to be a stage ready for a play. There were seats like church pews lined up on either side of the chamber, all facing the king. The other occupant was a young man in the same practical clothes that Trevellar had worn on their journey.

              This must be Leif, Trevellar’s apprentice, who Merlin had met in the form of a wolf. There was something about that animal in the lines of the young man’s face. He had a sharp jaw and wide, intelligent eyes. Merlin could barely feel a flicker of power emanating from him. Either he was showing more control over his power than even Trevellar, or he didn’t have much magic to begin with.

              King Murdoch wasn’t very old. He had only a few grey whiskers in his otherwise blonde beard, but there was twinkle of kindly humor to his eyes, hidden under bushy blonde eyebrows, that belied a wisdom beyond those years. He remained seated as his sorcerer and Merlin approached through the great doors.

              On either side of the room there were tables set up between the columns, each holding a stack of paper and quills—the desks of scholars. But besides Jack, Merlin, Murdoch and Leif, there was not a soul in the large, ornate chamber.

              “My Lord Emrys,” Jack said grandly, stepping a little ahead of Merlin and bowing low to his king. “May I present his majesty, King Murdoch, descendant of legendary Meroveus.”

              Merlin bowed at the waist, keeping his knees locked straight. His cheeks flushed embarrassingly when Jack called him ‘my lord’.

              He wished he had paid attention to Gwen’s lectures about the Aquitani court manners. After the letter from Murdoch had arrived requesting a negotiation of trade and travel routes across the border, Merlin had been sent into the dusty depths of the palace library to find books and scrolls on the ancient history between Camelot and Aquitane.

              He had two dusty tomes and after discovering that they only contained boring monologues on which utensils to use at dinner and what words properly conveyed subservience or superiority, he had given them to Gwen without a seconds thought. Now he wished that he had read it.

              But it appeared that he had done something right, because the old king beamed.

              “Emrys,” the king said. He bowed low, his finery spreading wide as he welcomed Merlin. “I have been waiting for this moment for a very, very long time.”

              “Please, your majesty,” Merlin said. “Call me Merlin.”

              “Ah,” the king said. “Yes. Your identity is a secret. Jack did say… Help me up, will you Jack?”

              Trevellar mounted the steps to the throne and helped the king to his feet. There seemed to be something wrong with the king’s legs. It was a job that should have been done by an attendant, but there was gentleness and care in Trevellar’s every movement as he supported his king.

              Leif came up on the other side as the pair descended, but remained a step behind as they approached Merlin. He didn’t know what to do so he held still and waited for the group to come to him. As they came closer, he could see that the king’s hands were clenched around Trevellar’s arm, and the sorcerer was the only thing keeping him standing.

              Merlin carefully averted his eyes and found himself staring into Murdoch’s ice-blue eyes. “Merlin,” he said. “We have so much to discuss before Arthur arrives. I don’t think we should stand on ceremony. I have been king long enough to know both peace and war and every shade between, but a united Albion… that is an age I should very much like to see.”

###

CAMELOT

              Percival dumped Gwaine onto the cot while Arthur roused Gaius. Avis had followed them inside, riding on Gwaine’s head. Once inside the infirmary he fluttered up to rest in the rafters and preened, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

              Gaius came out of his chambers, pulling a robe over his nightclothes. It was late in the day by now, but no one said anything to disheveled appearance. He seemed grumpy enough already.  “What happened?” he asked curtly, moving swiftly to Gwaine’s side and peeling away the mud-stiffened clothing to reveal the wound. It had opened on the ride and blood flowed dark and sluggish.

              “A tavern brawl by the look of it,” Arthur said drily. “And too much ale.”

              Gwaine’s face had started to swell on the long ride up. He barely resembled the knight that Arthur had come to call a friend. His eyes were glazed, unseeing, prompting Arthur to wave a hand over his face. “Gwaine?” he asked sharply.

              The injured knight’s mouth fell open, and Arthur tensed drawing closer… Only to reel backwards as Gwaine let out a sudden, deep snore. He shook his head, caught between laughter and anger.

              “Do what you can,” he said to Gaius. “He’s going to stay here until I say he’s fit for duty. Have Leon strap him to the bed if need be.”

              Gaius nodded and sat beside Gwaine’s bed, pulling his bag of emergency tools closer. Avid plunged dwon from the rafters to take up a post at the head of the bed. Gaius nudged the bird away with an elbow. “No animals in the infirmary,” he said to the room at large.

              “I’m not sure he’s an animal,” Arthur said thoughtfully.

              Gaius looked up from his patient to Arthur, and then to the bird. “A sorcerer?”

              The bird squawked loudly, fluffing out its feathers.

              “Have you heard of such a thing?” Arthur asked.

              Gaius shrugged helplessly. “Certainly. Shapeshifters, soul-sharers… No sorcerer can do magic in the body of an animal, that much is certain, so it is hard to know… hard to test. You think…” his eyes snapped back to Arthur. “You think it’s Merlin?”

              Arthur folded his arms across his chest and looked at the bird. “I want to believe it,” he said. “Is it crazy to want Merlin back, even if he’s now…” he gestured helplessly at the hawk, who was tracking the conversation with little jerks of its head. “… _that?”_

###

AQUITANE

TEN DAYS AGO

               “I don’t think you give Arthur enough credit,” Merlin argued patiently. “It is hard for any king to break tradition.”

              “Even a tradition of burning innocents at the stake? Torturing men and women who have done nothing but keep heirlooms or try to save sick children? These are the tales that reach us from Camelot’s refugees. I would not call it tradition, it is pure barbarism.”

              They were walking in a large courtyard garden, and the air was crisp and clean. The whole garden rioted with life, heavy with fruit and flowers. Bees droned on in the background of their conversation, blocking out any noise that might come from the castle.

              Trevellar still supported the king, though his arm must ache with the strain of keeping the king upright. “But you know the stories of Emrys,” Merlin said, “He is the king to unite Albion—he’s the key to restoring magic. Peacefully.”

              “No. The one to restore magic is you. I trust you, Merlin. The diviners have been in the court every day for three years talking of little else but the return of Emrys, a time of prosperity, when the old power can return in full. And here you are. The one true king, once and future-- that is a tale for Camelot.”

              “Two sides of the same coin,” Merlin said with a crooked smile. “There cannot be one without the other.”

              “So think of Aquitane as your side of the coin,” Murdoch pressed him, “This is your land. Your people. And magic has need of you, now more than ever. There are fewer sorcerers in every new generation, each with less magic. We’re fading, our way of life is disappearing. Even if Emrys had not been in Arthur’s company, we would need to discuss trade with Camelot and learn how to survive without magic.”

              Merlin blinked, looking up to Trevellar, who nodded solemnly. “Leif is the strongest of his generation, and his talents almost exclusively lie in travelling. But since you came… since you crossed the border, I can _feel_ magic returning. Not just me, any sorcerer in Aquitane will tell you the same.”

              Murdoch stopped, forcing Merlin to face him. The king held out his free hand summoned a coin to his palm. It was dark bronze, pressed with a familiar profile. “A coin may have two sides, but one is always hidden.”

              He tossed it up into the air and it spun between them, a glittering orb. “There will be a time for balance. But you are so young, and the legends of Emrys are many, and long. How many more years must we wait for Arthur to cast aside his superstitions, and convince his kingdom to follow him?”

              Merlin opened his mouth. Then closed it. “I don’t know what you are asking,” he confessed.

              “Stay with us,” Murdoch urged. “Grow stronger. Learn with a master of magic and help us prosper. If Arthur is what you say, then he will be sensible, he will open the trade roads and we can slowly build up trust with our neighbors. Perhaps the time for The Once and Future King and Emrys is on the horizon, but until we can be sure of the signs and portents, it is far safer for you here than in King Arthur’s court.”

              Before Merlin could think of an answer, a familiar sound interrupted their conversation. Trevellar stiffened and Merlin whirled around to see Arthur and the knights in clean clothes and staring at the group in puzzlement.

              They had been led there by a breathless looking Leif, who bowed low. “King Arthur of Camelot,” he said, bowing. “May I present King Murdoch of Aquitane, descended of ancient Meroveus.”

              Without loosing an instant on surprise, Murdoch inclined his head to Arthur, striding forward on Jack’s arm. “Ah. I was just talking to your companion. I always like to meet a king who inspires such loyalty.”

              Arthur shot a glance at Merlin, who shrugged helplessly behind Murdoch’s back. This little exchange was not lost on Murdoch, who laughed aloud. “Oh, come now, he really has been good company. The doctors say I must walk every day, but our conversation has been so diverting I even lost track of the time. Come, let us speak in the throne room where I can greet you properly.”

              “Wherever would be more comfortable for you,” Arthur said cordially. “I have brought with me tribute and good will. I think we will have much to discuss.”

              Murdoch nodded approvingly. “Then let us go to my council chamber. The chairs are more comfortable.”

              He and Trevellar led the way back inside and Merlin fell into step next to Gwaine. “What’s wrong with his legs?” Gwaine whispered.

              “Childhood illness,” Merlin returned, even more quietly. Trevellar had told him as such on the road to Camelot.

               “You’d think he’d just—” he flicked his fingers in the air to symbolize magic.

              Merlin rolled his eyes. “Not everything can be fixed that way.”

              Gwaine shrugged as they turned a corner. “I’ve saw some strange things in exile,” he said. “Never a sorcerer who wasn’t desperate to conceal a weakness.”

              Merlin shook his head, but didn’t answer. His thoughts were still on King Murdoch’s offer. He was going to turn it down. He had to. Camelot needed him, Arthur needed him. And things would change, he had seen it on this journey.

              Arthur had grown as much as Merlin had in the few days in Aquitane. While Merlin had been learning more of magic than he had ever dreamed of knowing, Arthur had seen a land where people didn’t live in fear of magic. And even agreeing to go on this trip, he had shown that he was ready to accept that there might be a place for magic in Camelot. Even if it was just a small trickle in the guidelines of trade.

              He was so engrossed in these thoughts, he didn’t see the ambush until they were surrounded.

###

              Trevellar had just seated Murdoch at the head of the table as Arthur stood at the other end. The knights and a handful of Aquitani nobles fanned out around the table, waiting for the king to invite them to sit.

              Still in the shadows, his eyes on Gwaine’s retreating back, Merlin sensed the attack in the shift of magic around the room. “Arthur—” he said, his voice rising quickly in volume.

              Arthur turned, his lips already forming a scornful warning, but Merlin was already crouching, searching the shadows one of the pools of gathering magic. He could _feel_ the malevolence in the air. “ _Get down!”_ he shouted and in a well-practiced breath, he flung a shimmering shield up around the table, just in time.

              The spells that shot out of the darkness between each of the columns were flung away, to smash into the columns. Each one hammering at Merlin’s hasty spell until it shattered, but by then chaos had well and truly taken over the council room.

              Many of the Aquitani nobles had disappeared underneath the great oak table, but Murdoch couldn’t move from his chair and Trevellar was holding his own against half a dozen assassins robed in black.

              The knights were having more success. Gwain’s dagger buried itself in the throat of an assailant. Arthur reached for Merlin’s collar and dragged him back, towards the table, as if he expected Merlin to hide underneath it like the nobles.

              He had hid sword up, but his attention was on a sorcerer to his right, whose pale hands were dancing in the shadows. In a split-second Merlin suddenly realized that Trevellar had only taught him a few defensive spells, nothing like what these men were using.

              In fact, he didn’t stand a chance against _practiced_ battle magicians. Still, he understood more than Arthur, who was looking in completely the wrong direction, expecting the attack to come from the man he was facing.

              But Merlin felt it, and then heard it. The sword whistled through the air far faster and harder than any human hand could throw it. He knew it was headed towards Arthur, straight for the kings heart, but he couldn’t _see_ the blade.

              He reached out and _shoved_ Arthur out of the way. Harder than he had meant, the king went crashing into a column fifty feet away. His armor must have taken he brunt of the force because he stood up in a moment, looking around in a daze. His sword was a few meters away, lost in his unexpected flight.

              Merlin choked, he couldn’t speak anymore. There was too much blood in his mouth, clogging his throat, and rattling around his lungs. He was going to drown in it. He looked down to see the hilt of a sword pressed to his chest.

              “ _No!”_ Gwaine cried out and Merlin looked up to see the knight’s horrified gaze. Leon and Elyan behind him, their own mouths opened in screams of warning.

              Then his chin fell down to his chest as his knees hit the stone. He reached up to touch the polished sword pommel, his fingertips feather-light on the warm metal. It felt solid, more real than the stone under his knees, or the cold air on his skin.

              The world tipped up and sideways and he could see the sorcerers in the hall turning as one to where he had thrown Arthur. There were no knights around him, and he had lost his sword. He was exposed and helpless.

              Merlin reached out a clawed hand, and with all his power, he spoke a single booming word and _lashed_ out at his enemies. They fell like puppets cut from their strings. He had only meant to send them to sleep, but he could feel that he had underestimated his power. They were all, every enemy sorcerer, dead.

              He let out a noise of sorrow and apology. He had never wanted to kill with magic. Had never wanted to harm anything in his life. He had only ever wanted to protect the people he cared about.

###

              “ _No!”_

Arthur heard Gwaine’s horrified shout before he even registered Merlin’s figure crumpling to the ground, a sword speared through him. Merlin’s body slid backwards until the point of the sword hit the stone floor and he began to slide down the length, revealing the length of the blade.

              “ _Merlin!_ ” he screamed.

              Merlin’s head tipped back, and Arthur stared in horrified fascination as his manservant’s eyes fixed on him. Merlin raised his hand rose as if he could reach through the chaos of battle, then hardened into a claw. Merlin’s eyes flashed bright gold, and from his throat came a single strange word that drowned out all other noise in the chamber.

              Magic.

              The hall fell to silence, cold, sudden silence. All the magic and dancing blades stopped in an instant.

              All over the court room figures in black robes fell simultaneously, a wave of power passing through everyone left standing.

              And then it was gone.

###

              It was the work of a few minutes, with Arthur still trying to understand what he had seen and the knights re-grouping around him in a protective guard, for strangers in brown robes to roll Merlin onto a length of canvas. Trevellar removed the sword with a single stroke, and sent the blade skittering across the floor to clatter against a column.

              “Missed my heart,” Merlin said wonderingly, to absolutely nobody.

              The court sorcerer was muttering under his breath, holding a hand over the wound that went through Merlin. Blood welled between his fingers and as Arthur reached Merlin’s side, he was hefted up between two brown-robed physicians who said little but hurried out of the courtroom.

               Arthur ran alongside them, one hand on the side of the cot, as if afraid he would get pulled away. He could see that every footstep was causing his manservant pain.

              “Dammit Merlin,” he growled. “if you die, I am going to be _very_ angry with you.”

              Despite how hard it must have been to breathe, Merlin huffed a laugh. “You’re not very angry at me right now?”

              Arthur looked away. “No,” he said, though a strange sort of rage _was_ blooming hot and wild in his chest.  “Of course not.”

              “I’m a sorcerer, Arthur,” Merlin whispered. Blood was leaking from his lips, but he didn’t seem to notice. His voice was small and childlike. “You’re not angry?”

              “You’re not a sorcerer, Merlin.”

              “Greatest… ever… lived.”

              “You’re delirious.”

              “Don’t want… secrets… before…”

              “Shut up,” Arthur said. “Shut up, Merlin.”

              “Freya…” Merlin said, and Arthur didn’t know whether to scold him for speaking, or to be glad that Merlin was fighting to stay conscious. “Freya...”

              He seemed to struggle, unable to finish, and Arthur looked ahead, every hallway looked the same in this maze of a palace. Where were they _going?_ “You’re going to be fine,” he swore. He didn’t know who he was talking to anymore. Merlin’s head was lolling on every step they took. “You’re going to be _fine,_ Merlin.”

              “She’s….” Merlin’s voice faded quickly into little huff for air, and then faded into silence.

              “Merlin?” Arthur said gruffly. “Merlin? Wake up. Merlin, open your eyes!”

              When there was no answer, he cast around for different incentive. “What about Freya?” he asked desperately. “Merlin, tell me about Freya. Merlin! No secrets, Merlin. I _know_ you still have some more. Merlin? Merlin, damn you! Open your eyes.”

              They pulled him away in an antechamber, Trevellar rolling up his sleeves as two guards blocked the knights from entering the antechamber. “My lords,” Trevellar said. “Please stay here.”

              “I’m going with him,” Arthur insisted, but Trevellar held him back firmly.

              “You can’t help him in there,” he said. “It’s healers only beyond this point. For everyone’s safety. You would only be in the way. I’ll send some healers out to tend to your wounds. Please.”

              He backed away from them, pinning Arthur in place with his gaze. Behind him, through the doorway Arthur could see white curtains and the physicians in brown robes busting around a large, well-lit room. Merlin had already disappeared into the bustling mass.

              And then Trevellar drew the doors closed, leaving Arthur and his knights in the antechamber. Gwaine collapsed onto a bench by the window and the rest took up a defensive guard around their king.

###

              Merlin couldn’t open his eyes, everything was filtering through a dreamy haze. Nothing seemed to matter very much, not the pain, or even Arthur’s panic.

              But Jack Trevellar burst into his thoughts, as clear and real as if they were sitting together in the woods again, sharing their trade of magic. _Arthur knows about your magic_ , he said grimly. _But you’re safe. We’ll keep you safe. He can’t touch you now._

 _He wouldn’t hurt me_ , Merlin said, his thoughts addled and chaotic as people began to clean the wound, frantically beginning their work on trying to save him. _I think it might be a little late for that anyway._

 _Not if I have anything to say about it. You’d best go travelling,_ the court sorcerer said, _what follows is going to hurt so much, the pain might kill you before blood loss or infection does._

And the pain was already building, already unbearable, Merlin didn’t have to hear it twice. He fled out the window, through the whole city, for the cool and calm woods. There was a young sparrow-hawk perched atop a pine tree, stretching out its newly tried wings.

              It graciously allowed Merlin into its mind and body. There wasn’t much intelligence to a bird, most of its consciousness was led by primal instinct. It recognized in Merlin the need to _fly_ , and let him in eagerly. They launched into the sky, terrifying all the nearby birds into flight as well.

###

              Arthur paced for two days, sleeping in fitful bursts on the bench or slumped against the wall. The King of Camelot’s thoughts were whirling chaotically, even after two days he still could not make sense of what he had seen. Leon, Gwaine sat like a statue on one of the benches by the window, unmoving and Elyan leaned against the doorway, his arms folded over his chest. Their wounds had been tended to—minor cuts and bruises which all of them had felt a thousand times. When Jack appeared, he looked grim. His sleeves were pulled up to his elbows, and the only blood Arthur could see on his was under his fingernails.

              “How is he?” he asked, walking back to meet Trevellar in the center of the room. Gwaine looked up, but didn’t stand. Elyan observed, his face bleak.

              “Still fighting,” the sorcerer said grimly, looking at each of them in turn. “I promise you, we’re doing everything possible.”

              He reached out tentatively, gripping Arthur’s shoulder. “You need to rest. Wearing your steps into the stone does nothing to help anyone.”

              “Did you know he was a sorcerer?” Arthur asked, stopping the other man from pulling away.

              Jack hesitated only a moment, long enough for Arthur to see the answer in his eyes. Then he nodded. “I felt it as soon as we crossed the border. He might be the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth.”

              Arthur’s hand slipped to his sword. “No.” he said, shaking his head and backing out of Trevellar’s reach. “I don’t… I don’t believe it. Not _Merlin_.”

              “And when you realize that I am telling the truth,” Trevellar said evenly. “What will you do?”

              The king of Camelot looked up to see Trevellar’s eyes narrowed on Arthur’s sword-hand, where he gripped the hilt of his word with white knuckles. “He’s under King Murdoch’s protection now,” the sorcerer said bluntly. “He has committed no crime on our land.”

              Arthur raised an eyebrow. “He _killed_ people.”

              “In defense of his king,” Trevellar reminded him, then he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I am tired, will you excuse me?”

              But he didn’t wait for Arthur’s dismissal, turning back and entering the mysterious set of doors again. Arthur watched him go with narrowed eyes. In his gut, he knew that something was wrong, but he could not give a name to it yet.

              “Can I speak to you?” someone asked, causing him to spin around. “Alone?”

              The speaker was a young man in dark clothes. His eyes were dark and flickered restlessly between the knights from Camelot as he spoke to Arthur. It was the boy who had led him to Merlin and Murdoch, all those days ago.

              “Speak to me here,” Arthur suggested. “I’m not feeling too trusting right now.”

              “And you shouldn’t,” the boy agreed, he glanced at Elyan again before he spoke, drawing closer to Arthur as the words flooded out of his mouth. “Someone let those assassins past Trevellar’s wards. Someone who knew which wards he used. Maybe even Murdoch himself, but that doesn’t matter. They’re going to kill your friend.”

              He spoke quickly, almost too quickly for Arthur to properly understand. He frowned and opened his mouth, but the stranger cut through his half-formed questions. “They’re torturing him right now, trying to find out how he managed that spell-- the one that killed all those men. They’re trying to find the source of his power by _cutting him open_.”

              “ _What?”_ Arthur breathed. He looked around to make sure they hadn’t been spotted, and pulled the boy further down the hall. “How do you know this? What are you--?’

              “I’m Master Trevellar’s apprentice,” the boy said quickly. “Merlin’s power has driven my master mad with jealousy. You don’t have to believe me—just… go and see. See what they’re doing to him.”

              The boy tugged out of Arthur’s grip with a surprising amount of strength. “Go,” he said harshly. “See that I’m telling you the truth. Before it’s too late—”

              He was backing away down the hallway, and when he was far enough away, he ran, leaving Arthur frozen still. Stunned. But only for a moment, then he turned and kicked the door down.

###

              It took him precious minutes to find Merlin. They had tucked him away in a chamber far from the door. Men and women in brown robes scattered as he approached, his sword drawn and Gwaine and Elyan at his back.

              The first glimpse of Merlin he caught was of a claw-like hand reaching up between the physicians. Arthur recognized it, even bent as it was in the rictus of death.

              The rest of the attendants scattered as Arthur approached the bed, only Jack remained, light pulsing around his fingers as he muttered spell after spell. His fingers were _inside_ the wound, _inside_ Merlin’s chest.

              The last time he had seen Merlin, he had been fading away, caught in the veil between life and death. When he had said Freya’s name, his eyes had closed and peace had fallen across his face. Arthur’s heart had fallen then, because he knew that his friend was dying.

              But this.

              This was different.

              Merlin’s body was arched up from the table, frozen in an aspect of agony. The shadows had deepened in his manservant’s eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks, emphasized by his stark white skin. His mouth was opened in a horrific scream, jaws stretched unnaturally wide.

              The roar of rage that left Arthur’s throat was inhuman, and it left him trembling, blind to anything else. Those milky eyes told him that Merlin had been dead for a long time. Hours. Days. And they had not told him. They hadn’t let him near as Merlin lay surrounded by strangers, so far from his home and family.

              Jack finally released Merlin, and he came around the bed to stand between Arthur and the body. But he was quickly flanked by Gwaine and Elyan, the knights swords were drawn, and though their faces were pale, Arthur could see that they were both ready to kill Jack Trevellar at Arthur’s word.

              The word now ready on his tongue.

               “You don’t understand,” Jack said, his voice quick and quiet. “Arthur, please, just listen to me. I’m trying to save him.”

              “Get out,” Arthur advanced, raising his sword aggressively. “Don’t touch him.”

              “I’m trying to explain,” Jack said harshly, he stood blocking Arthur’s progress to the bed, the king’s own sword held defensively in one hand. “Please trust me, Arthur.”

              “No. I know what you were doing, and it stops now.”

              “We can’t, Arthur. He’ll die.”

              “He’s already dead,” Arthur said steadily, one shaking finger pointing to Merlin as he placed himself between his friend’s body and the sorcerer who had done such unspeakable things to him. “Whatever you did, it’s done. Now get out. Get out and tell Murdoch that the negotiation is _over_.”

              “You don’t want that, Arthur. I know how it looks—“

              “ _Get,”_ Arthur roared, “ _out!”_

###

CAMELOT

              Gwen found him in the library, which meant that she had looked everywhere else already. Her face was pale. “They’ve captured someone crossing Camelot from Aquitane, they’re going to bring him to the cells.”

              “A spy?” Arthur asked quickly, setting down one of the scrolls mentioned in Merlin’s book. There was a great deal more literature on magical creatures than Uther had been allowed to know.

              “I don’t know. I only saw him from the window. He looked hurt, I think there was blood on the cobblestones.”

              He nodded and held out a hand for her to take. “Not the cells,” he said, and was pleased to see a small smile of agreement on her lips. “It might be dangerous,” he warned her.

              She gave him a look, the one that had pulled him so deeply in love with her that he sometimes thought there was nothing else worth living for. He nodded to himself.

              “Will you join me in the court room?” he asked.

              She smiled. “Of course.”

              He dispatched the guards outside the library to redirect the prisoner to the court room, and to fetch Gaius and the knights to the same location. He walked leisurely up the stairs, his thoughts bleak. If it was an emissary from Murdoch, then the council had a harsh duty in delivering their demands to the foreign king. If it was an assassin, then there was enough steel at his throat already to stop a single word from leaving his lips.

              He settled on his throne, Gwen taking her own at his side, and they waited.

              The sound of shackled preceded the prisoner. Chains scraped against the stone tiles, and when the door opened, it was to reveal a scruffy looking man in ill-fitting breeches and travelling cloak. He was forced to halt in the center of the chamber, and then stopped by the edge of a guard’s sword at his throat.

              The man in the center of the court was thin to the point of skeletal. His beard and hair were unkempt, and his clothes ragged and stained. He was bruised and scraped up, as if he had been tortured.

              He was all this, and he was Merlin.

              Arthur stood at once. “ _Merlin_?” he asked, unsure if this was an apparition of madness or magic.

              The sorcerer swayed on his bare, bleeding feet. “My king,” he said.

              And collapsed.

             

             

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfway done! Please forgive typos until I've posted the epilogue! Then go crazy.


	6. The Traveler

AQUITANE

7 DAYS AGO

              Jack Trevellar looked out through the ornate window, down into the courtyard where the men from Camelot were building a funeral pyre. The vigil had lasted all night, during which they had discussed preparations to take Merlin’s body back to Camelot with them, and in the end decided it would be too long a journey, too undignified an ending for their friend. Trevellar had stood in the shadows and observed, waiting for an opening that never came.

              Merlin still hadn’t returned, which was starting to bode ill for everyone involved. The healers had managed to fix most of the major damage, but if his spirit came back any time soon, there was a chance that the beating of his heart would open any mending too thin to support his life.

              But too long out of his body—that held dangers of its own.

              The whole palace was in an uproar, and for many Aquitani, the small delegation from Camelot was overlooked in the face of much more dangerous news. Murdoch was confined to his bedchamber, assassins had attacked the council chamber, and magic was returning ten-fold to the land.

              The nobles were looking to him for information and guidance, and while he knew that Emrys had indeed returned, how was he to tell them that in fact Emrys was dying, and about to be incinerated by the neighboring kingdom?

              It was a little ironic, he thought unkindly, that Merlin seemed unable to escape a fate of being burned alive by the king he was so foolishly loyal to. How had he managed to survive for so long? And keep his gifts hidden?

              He was not going anywhere near Arthur or the knights. He didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that the entire delegation of knights was imagining ways to kill him just as slowly and painfully as they imagined he killed Merlin.

              An abhorrent thought.

              He leaned his forehead against the glass. Everything had gone horribly wrong so very quickly, and it _was_ his fault. Somehow the assassins had slipped through all his wards and precautions. But _how?_ How had they known?

              Arthur lit the torch, the moment Jack had been waiting for. He straightened in front of the window and concentrated on the scene below him. With a snap of his fingers he extinguished the flame, and in its place, he set an illusion of fire.

              The knights stepped well back, and Trevellar wove the illusion with both of his hands, calling forth every ounce of imagination and power into the threads of his creation. The delegation from Camelot watched the deception with hardened eyes.

              The wind blew strongly, and Trevellar muttered as fast as he could, flourishing his heatless fire up, consuming the pyre as naturally as he could manage. Fire and smoke were the hardest illusions to cast, they moved so organically.

              He was sweating and breathless by the time the funeral had satisfied the knights. The illusion burnt low and black, an echo of how drained Trevellar had become. He waited as the king mounted up and rode out of the courtyard for the castle gates.

              He waited until he was _sure_ that they had ridden out and away. They would ride the way they had come most likely, and find no trouble in the countryside, not with everyone flocking into the towns for news on King Murdoch and the return of magic.

              Finally, he dropped the illusion, showing the untouched pyre and Merlin’s pale, still body, still whole and probably quite chilled by now. He gestured for the healers to fetch their patient and sagged against the wall breathing deep and hard. His work, at least for now, was done.

              Leif found him in the same position a few hours later.

              “We should ready ourselves for war,” his apprentice said, helping him to stand.

              Jack shook his head wearily. “Arthur would not be so hasty. Those sorcerers attacked everyone in the throne room, Murdoch and I included.”

              They walked side by side, heading towards their shared work room. Servants bowed as he passed, and Jack nodded at them and smiled. It was imperative that nobody see how desperate he was for answers of his own. Better to be seen in control, unworried by everything that had occurred in the past few days.

              When they were alone again, he allowed his tiredness to show again. “But I still don’t understand _why_. Who would gain from a war between Camelot and Aquitane? Everyone would suffer.”

              Leif was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke his voice was quiet. “Except Merlin.”

              “I think Merlin’s suffered enough for us to rule him out. I mean, he’s _Emrys_. His sole purpose is to unite Albion.”

              “He’s the only sorcerer in Camelot,” Leif insisted. “If he wanted power, no one could stop him. That’s always been the weakness of Camelot. Imagine if there was only _one_ sorcerer in Albion. No one could touch him. Absolute power. Emrys has as good as got his fingers wrapped around Arthur’s throat.”

              He helped Jack into the room and left his side to close the door. Trevellar looked around the grand space with blank eyes. There was something very wrong, and his tired mind was struggling to grasp at the straws available to him.

              “He doesn’t think like that,” he said. “And there are a dozen sorcerers in Aquitane who could win a battle against Merlin. He’s inexperienced, he _knows_ he’s inexperienced. He really does want to restore magic, not just to Aquitane, but to Camelot as well. The last thing he wants is to be the only sorcerer in Albion.”

              “Only because he lacks vision.”

              Jack heard the bolt drawn across the door, and he turned to face his apprentice, his heart suddenly dropping like a lead weight. “Leif.”

              The younger man was inches away, closer than Jack had expected. He stumbled back, only for each of his steps to be followed by his apprentice, faster and faster. A blinding pain exploded in his ribs. He looked down to see the small dagger being pulled from his ribs.

              Then slammed back into him. Again and again.

              He tripped down the small set of stairs to sprawl onto the threadbare carpet of his workroom. He threw up a flickering shield, but it was too weak. Leif dismissed it with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

              “I thought that a little power would be enough. At least it was _power_. I was going to go back to Camelot. Take power there. I would have been content, before _Emrys_ arrived. Oh, you were going to train him, teach him everything you had taught me. I knew he was going to be a problem.”

              “Leif—” it seemed to be the only thing he was capable of saying.

              “But look at him now,” Leif said. “It’s worked out better than I could ever have dreamed, because Emrys is _empty_. All that power, all that influence, laid out for me like the crown and scepter I deserve _.”_

“You can’t—” he choked out.

              “But I can,” Leif said simply. “I’m the best traveler in a dozen generations. I may not have much else, but I have _that._ And with Emrys’s magic, I can go back to Camelot and bend Arthur’s ear to kill all the sorcerers in Aquitaine, just like his father. Then I’ll do what you and Murdoch so desperately wanted. I won’t just unite Albion, I’ll _take_ it.”

              He advanced slowly. “So thank you, Master Trevellar. For everything.”

###

CAMELOT

              Arthur And Leon carried Merlin slung between them. The shackles and Merlin’s toes scraped along the floor behind them and Gaius led the way to the infirmary, muttering instructions to Gwen.

              Percival was somewhere behind them, getting the key to Merlin’s restraints from the guards. The sorcerer was mumbling incoherently, his head dangling low on his shoulders. Arthur couldn’t make out any distinct words.

              Gaius unlocked the door to the chambers and hurried inside to ready another bed for his new patient.

              “Is that _Merlin_?” Gwaine said, springing to out of his cot immediately to help Arthur and Leon deposit their friend on the mattress.

              “Superficial wounds,” Gaius muttered, bustling around the bed, fussing over his ward’s body. “But he’s got a strange fever. Merlin? Merlin, can you hear me?”

              Merlin’s eyelids fluttered, showing only the whites of his eyes.

              “But we watched him burn,” Leon said helplessly. “We all saw him dead! He was _cold_.”

              Gwaine was grinning, the only one in the chamber with a smile. “Merlin’s a tough bastard.”

              “Merlin?” Gaius asked again. “Merlin, you must try to stay awake.”

              He tore open Merlin’s tunic, and took in a deep breath. Not at the bruises and obviously broken ribs, but at the jagged, angry scar.

              All of a sudden, screeching through the window, Avis flew straight at the figure on the bed. Gwaine caught the sparowhawk against his chest and fought to keep a hold of it as Merlin surged up from the bed, his eyes snapping open.

              “Keep him away from me,” Merlin hissed as Avis screeched its own curses. Gwaine was hard pressed not to hurt the bird as it wrenched its wings and talons against his grip.

              “Avis!” Gwaine barked, but the bird didn’t appear to hear him and continued screeching, even ripping some of Gwaine’s flesh under its claws.

              It was Percival who took Avis from his hands and fled the scene. Though he closed the door to the infirmary on his way out, they all heard his shout of alarm as he apparently lost control of the small, spry bird.

              “Close the window!” Arthur command, his order quickly obeyed by Gwaine.

              Merlin turned his wild eyes on Arthur, and the king found himself unable to recognize the man there. It was Merlin’s face, but it wasn’t _Merlin_.

              “What did they do to you?” he asked his manservant, forcing the bubble of despair and hot anger down. That wasn’t useful to anyone right now.

              “That bird,” Merlin said, grasping at Arthur’s tunic, which he had _never_ done before. “It’s a spy. From Aquitane. It’s a sorcerer, Arthur. It’ll tell Trevellar that I’m here, that I’m alive. He’ll try to kill me. He can do it--”

              “Alright,” Arthur said soothingly. “You need to rest, Merlin. I’ll take care of the bird.”

              He spoke a little too soon as the sound of the hawk slapping into the window and the raucous shrieks it raised tore at their ears. Everyone flinched at the sound Gwaine looking a little worried as the tiny feathered body beat against the glass again and again.

              “Murdoch hasn’t been seen since the attack.” Merlin said quickly. “Trevellar sits on the Aquitani throne, and he _laughs_ at Camelot and its king.”

              Frowning, Arthur pushed Merlin back down onto the cot. Merlin’s voice was strange, and hs words even stranger. Whatever he had been through, it had changed him drastically. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “You need to start from the beginning—where have you _been?”_

“In Murdoch’s cells,” he said. “They tortured me, they wanted information about Camelot, about our patrols, and the castle. The villages near the border, how many weapons and soldiers we have--”

               “You don’t know any of that, do you?” he asked blankly. It was the only thing he could think of to say, because Merlin had been _tortured._ It made his blood boil hot and quick in his veins.

              Merlin stopped and took a deep breathe. There was something distant and dark behind his eyes, a barrier that Arthur had never seen before. “They didn’t seem to care,” Merlin said hoarsely.

###

              Much later, Arthur climbed the tight, winding stairs to the tallest turret. Somehow he knew that Avis would be there. The bird was looking a little dazed, and he wondered how much damage the bird had done to itself trying to get through the glass.

              The sparrow-hawk watched him lean against the crenellation and let out a small, wounded, questioning sound.

              “Are you a sorcerer?” Arthur asked.

              The head lowered in a jerk, the golden eyes fixed on him. “Then could you please conjure up some legs and a mouth, so I don’t have to play these _stupid_ games?”

              Avis ruffled his feathers, his whole body shivering indignantly. Arthur leaned against the bannister, huffing his frustration. “You can’t.”

              Avis crooned an affirmative.

              “Are you here to harm Merlin?’ he asked. “Or anyone in Camelot?”

              The bird hesitated and Arthur stiffened. It was an easy question. But as he frowned at Avis, his feathered companion met his gaze with large liquid eyes and shook its head emphatically.

              “I don’t know why I should trust you,” he said. “You’ve been spying on us all, getting into council meetings and god knows where else.”

              The bird muttered indistinctly, but Arthur spoke over it. “But you helped Gwaine. And Percival. And… me.”

              In the distance, the sounds of Camelot hummed drowsily. It would be dark soon, and after a long day of one crisis after the next Arthur’s exhaustion had soaked deep into his bones.

              “So,” Arthur said. “I’m going to let you go without questions, without repercussions. Go back to Trevellar, or Murdoch, or whoever is responsible for what happened in Aquitane. Tell them that once my sorcerer is finished telling me exactly what he experienced in their lands, they should expect an answer for it.”

              It gurgled a sad slow sound and hunched its shoulders. It shifted its weight from talon to talon in anxiety, but Arthur refused to soften his eyes. “Go.”

              Avis uttered a single mournful cry, but when the hawk saw that Arthur was going to offer no further conversation, he launched himself into the air, displaying his wingspan and slate-grey chest. He shrieked a single, harsh sound into the evening air before turning in the air and plummeting down the castle wall.

              Arthur watched impassively as the hawk snapped its wings out again and glided over the rooves of the city, heading for the forest and plains of Camelot, towards the boundary with Aquitane and whatever lay in those distant and dark mountains.

###

              Gwaine sat up on his cot, balancing his plate on his lap and watching the other occupied bed. He could see that Merlin was awake, but the sorcerer refused to turn over. He had tried engaging him in conversation half a dozen times already, but his cajoling had only excited an ever-deepening silence from his companion.

              “We missed you,” Gwaine said to the air. “This place just isn’t the same when you’re not here.”

              The blankets tightened around Merlin’s absurdly thin frame, but he gave no other indication that he had heard the knight.

              “Percival was getting all weepy-eyed.”

              He ate a grape and looked up to the ceiling.

               “And the princess was storming all over the castle, face like someone kicked her favorite puppy.”

              He tried not to imagine what had been done to cause the happy-go-lucky, earnest Merlin to turn into this silent, shivering prisoner. “Gwen and Gaius—”

              He wasn’t expecting Merlin to turn so suddenly, his young face blazing with an expression Gwaine had never seen before. It was such a shock that he accidentally inhaled the grape he had been chewing on.

              “Shut up,” Merlin hissed,” Don’t you _ever_ shut up?”

              He coughed frantically, until the grape shot out of his throat to skitter across the floor. “Merlin—" he wheezed.

              “Leave me alone. Why can’t you just leave me _alone_?”

              And with a quick, practiced gesture, an oily black screen rose between their beds. Gwaine, still trying to catch his breath, stared, astonished as Merlin’s silhouette turned away and pulled the blankets around his shoulders again.

###


	7. Unanswered

CAMELOT

              Arthur set a foot against Merlin’s cot and rocked his chair back. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked up at the ceiling. “I think,” he said slowly. “That there should be some more color in this room. It looks like a bloody dungeon.”

              He hadn’t been sure if Merlin was awake, but his manservant turned in his bed to look up at Arthur. “I want to be at the war council,” Merlin said.

              “I haven’t called one.”

              Merlin huffed out something between a laugh and a sob. “Arthur, you need to act quickly,” he groaned, pushing himself upright on the bed. “They’re not waiting. They’re recruiting their armies, their _sorcerers_ , right now.”

              “The council can wait,” Arthur said. “You’re in no condition to face their questions.”

              “I am. I _will_.”

              Arthur sighed and let all four legs of his chair crash onto the stone floor. “Merlin—”

              “I’m ready Arthur.”

              “Alright,” he said, “then tell me about Freya. Better yet, tell me about how you kept your magic a secret for all these years.”

              Merlin’s mouth snapped shut and anger flared in his dark eyes. Arthur leaned forward, digging his elbows into his knees. “Then tell me why you have a picture of Balinor the last Dragonlord in your journal.”

              He thought he could hear Merlin’s teeth grind and he turned his head to the side. “You want an easier one than that? Tell me how you know Dragoon the Great, because I found his name more than a few times. Nothing else. Just his name, over and over again in the margin. That was a bit odd.”

              Finally Merlin looked away, to where his fists were now clenched in the bedsheets, and Arthur leaned back. “I didn’t think so. You seem to have a complicated relationship with the truth, Merlin.”

              “I thought we were past this,” Merlin said at last, his voice soft.

              Arthur frowned. “Past what?”

              “Your _hatred_ of magic.”

              “This has nothing to do with magic. Well… not _all_ to do with magic,” he amended. “Gwaine and Gaius are concerned. They say you’re not yourself.”

              He didn’t miss the way that Merlin stiffened, and let out a sigh. “You’re not in trouble Merlin. Torture changes a man, but no matter what they did to you, whatever they said, you’re strong. Maybe the strongest man I know.”

              “Please Arthur,” Merlin pleaded again, his gaze intense. “There’s no time to waste. We have to invade— Bring some order—”

              Arthur stood suddenly, and Merlin flinched away, his face inching as if he was expecting to be hit. “You’re not well,” Arthur said gently. “You need to get some rest.”

              He didn’t miss the way Merlin’s fist clenched in the bedsheets. “I’ll send Gwen in,” he said. “She wants a few words with you. Perhaps you can convince her that we didn’t leave you behind in Aquitane on purpose.”

              “I don’t want to talk to anybody. Not yet.”

              Arthur shrugged. “I’ll try to tell her, but Gwen might have something to say about it anyway. You know how she can get.”

              His manservant nodded. “You said you had my journal?” he asked.

              Arthur nodded. “I’ll return it directly.”

              “Thank you,” Merlin called after him as Arthur mounted the stairs to the exit to the infirmary.

              Just before he reached the door, Arthur turned. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Very wrong. “Merlin, Is there… anything else you want to tell me? Anything at all?”

              “Tell Gwaine I’m sorry,” Merlin said, rearranging the pillows at his back. “I didn’t mean--”

              “He’s fine,” Arthur assured him, with a slight smile. “If anything he’s worried about you. Not angry in the slightest.”

              Merlin nodded thoughtfully, clasping his hands over his stomach in yet another posture that Arthur didn’t recognize. “And the princess?” Merlin asked.

              Arthur frowned, his hand freezing on the door handle. “The princess?”

              “Gwaine said she was upset.”

              “…Right.”

              “I didn’t want to cause any concern.”

              “You’re here now,” Arthur said, his heart sinking even as he forced the edges of his mouth up. He hoped it resembled a smile. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

             

###

AQUITANE

              It was the second time Merlin had flown across the border. The young sparrow-hawk was tired and unused to nighttime flying, but after over a week of sharing its body with Merlin, it had started to understand the urgency of his situation.

              Merlin’s rage and despair drove their wings through the air with grim efficiency. While the hawk was changing, becoming more human, he could feel that he was changing too. It was becoming harder and harder to remember that he had responsibilities, that the wings weren’t his and that eating a fresh kill _wasn’t_ an appealing dinner.

              After a week as a hawk, he was feeling cramped and uneasy. And _itchy_.

              He thought it had been painful to watch his friends mourn him. Watching them welcome Leif home in his body, watching them listen to his lies, and trust a traitor because they thought it was him—thinking of it now caused an explosive shriek to fly from his beak.

              Anger boiled in his blood. If there was a single ounce of magic in the hawk, Leif would be a slip of grease under Merlin’s foot.

              He had spent three days avoiding thoughts of Arthur and his duty. Three days of imagining what life would be like now that Arthur _knew_ about his magic. Three days of not knowing whether he would live or die in Aquitane.

              He had come back to Murdoch’s castle, feeling stronger and braver than he ever had before to find that three days was all it took for everything to come crashing down around his ears once more.

              To find that Arthur had left with the knights. Murdoch locked away in his chambers. His own body being walked across the border by a madman, and Jack Trevellar gasping out his final breaths with Leon’s dagger stuck between his ribs.

              He had slightly lost his mind when he saw his own body in Gaius’s chambers. He had already spent too much time as an animal. The mania of attempting to kill Leif with his bare talons was nonsensical, but at the time it had felt like the only thing he _could_ do.

              And Arthur had sent him away because of it. There had been an instant, after he had brought Gwaine back, when the king had recognized him. But that was gone the moment ‘Merlin’ showed up. If Merlin had a mouth to curse with, he would have curdled the air around him.

              The flight was long. Too long, and the higher he flew the more exhausting it became.

              Dawn was cresting the horizon by the time he reached Murdoch’s castle, and the poor sparrow-hawk’s heart was beating so fast he thought they might faint after landing.

              But he had found the right window after all and gentle hands picked him up. A few whispered words drew a little energy into the hawk’s body and healed some of the soreness already setting into their wings.

              “Emrys,” Trevellar said, his voice breaking with the effort of speech. “You can’t keep going like this.”

###

CAMELOT

              “What about Avis?” Gwaine said suddenly, sitting up straight. “he knew something was wrong before any of us.”

              Arthur winced. “I sent him away,” he said. “I didn’t think—”

              “Damn,” Gwaine said. Leaning back against his chair.

              “So what do we do?” Leon said slowly, “If it’s not Merlin?”

              “He could be under an enchantment,” Gwaine insisted for the dozenth time.

              “Who knows what they did to him in Aquitane,” Gaius said. He was hunched in his chair, looking older and more worn that Arthur had ever seen him. “After three decades of closed borders, and no communication between our peoples, there’s no way of knowing the limits of their magic. We have no one who can help us with a diagnosis.”

              Arthur tapped a forefinger on the arm of his chair, looking around at the assembly of his friends. This was not the sort of council open to his nobles. “There must be _someone_ in Camelot who knows _something_ about this sort of thing?”

              “I’m sure you could ride out and ask nicely,” Gwaine muttered. “Just let everyone know King Arthur’s looking for some magical advice.”

              “We saw Merlin’s body,” Elyan broke through the sour silence across the table. “We _saw_ him burn. If it is really Merlin in there, I would like to know how he survived, because I, for one, was suspicious from the start.”

              “The real question is,” Gwen said quietly, drawing everyone’s attention. “If that isn’t Merlin, who is it? And why are they trying to start a war?”

              Arthur rubbed a hand across his eyes. His head was pounding. They were all completely out of their depth. Uther may have been wrong about many things, but he had been right about one at least. Magic caused chaos. Magic _was_ chaos.

              “I want to talk to him,” Gwen said finally, when no one could answer her.

              Arthur’s head snapped up. “No,” he said instantly, “Absolutely not.”

              “Somebody needs to talk to him. If he’s a stranger, then he won’t think I’m a threat. And if he is Merlin, then he trusts me. Do we have any other option? Other than burning him at the stake?”

              Nobody looked at Arthur, but he could feel the accusation on his shoulders. He had not expected it to come from his wife. “Something isn’t right,” he said steadily. “I know it. If you spend any time with him alone, you’ll feel it too.”

              “Made my skin crawl,” Gwaine agreed. “I was hoping—” he swallowed and looked away, but the dread sat unspoken, shared between everyone in the room.

              They had all felt Camelot change when Merlin had returned. It was as if life had been breathed back into the castle. But now, after that all too brief reprieve, Arthur couldn’t help but remember Merlin;s body falling to the floor, and the way he had lain on the stone slab, frozen in a posture of agony.

              He swallowed, blinking fiercely to mask the anger and despair. Was a sorcerer robbing him of the chance to properly mourn his friend? It would be the cruelest use of magic he had seen so far, in these past few weeks of endless horror.

              He knew Gwaine must be feeling the same, the knight’s bruises had just started to fade, but he still sat awkwardly in his chair to compensate for the bandages around his torso. His grief was being toyed with as well. Arthur hated to think what kind of trouble the volatile knight would get into if it proved that their suspicions were right-- that someone was using their pain and distorting Merlin’s memory.

              Percival spoke up for the first time, laying a bracing hand of Gwaine’s shoulder. “Well, I’m not giving up on him yet.”

              “But,” Leon spoke up again, this time with forced patience. “What do we do if it’s not Merlin?”

              Arthur leaned his head back against the chair. “We’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it. For now we’ll double the guard. We’ll watch his every move, and we don’t trust anything he says until we have proof either way. We have to be vigilant, and never let on that we think anything is wrong. We have to keep our secrets to ourselves and give him no more information. About ourselves, or each other, or Camelot.”

              Everyone nodded, even Gaius who was looking more wane and withdrawn than ever. Arthur took a deep breath. “No one is ever alone with him. Ever. For any reason.”

###

AQUITANE

              A healer set out a plate of sweet meats for Merlin to enjoy. The sparrow-hawk was not as fond of cooked food, but would probably have eaten anything put in front of it after their long flight. Trevellar leaned back against his bed with a drawn-out exhalation.

              “We still haven’t found him,” he said breathlessly. “But his body won’t be far away. If we can find where his body is, we can draw him back into it. Reel him back like an anchor.”

              Merlin chirped impatiently.

              “You have to use your words,” Trevellar reminded him. “You have to practice or you’ll lose the ability.”

              _I keep forgetting_ , Merlin said. _I’m losing more and more every day. I couldn’t even speak to Gaius._

“Probably because he’s only a practitioner of the old religion. The magic we’re using is Elemental. Too new even for the druids to approve of.” He chuckled weakly, then winced as the movement shifted his wounds.

              _Much good elemental magic does me. I can’t tell anyone in Camelot what’s happening._

              “You think it’s bad on your end,” Trevellar said drily. “Leif is probably running a fever that could cook eggs and probably hallucinating some _really_ strange things about now.”

              _And he’s in the castle,_ Merlin said. _Running that fever in_ my _body. Using_ my _magic._

“We have time. I have every available sorcerer searching for where he might have hidden his body, and Leif is a practiced traveler. He won’t do anything stupid enough to cause himself trouble. Not yet, at least.”

              Merlin shook his head. _I can’t wait forever. I have lost enough time already._

Trevellar’s face darkened. “I know. Believe me. I’ve been rooting out the group he was working with. They’re all young, all with some notion of becoming a supreme ruling council, controlling all the magic use within the kingdom. I have names. I have faces. Some are already in the cells, but others will have to wait until I can get back up on my feet.”

              _And Murdoch?_

“Murdoch’s… He’s still being attended by healers. He caught one of the blasts from Leif’s conspirators, and he’s so much weaker than he likes to admit. No one will tell me anything and I’m too damn weak to go to him myself.”

              Merlin let the hawk have control over their body to eat. He had no taste for food. _I don’t know what to do_ , he said at last. _I really… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I have nothing without my magic. I_ am _nothing._

Treveller tapped his beak. “You’re Emrys,” he said. “And you’re not alone in this. I won’t fail you. Once you’re rested, you have to go back. Once we find Leif’s body, he’s going to fight us with everything he’s got. You have to be ready to take your life back and deal with the consequences.”

              It wasn’t enough, Merlin thought. There was no plan in that. He had no idea what would happen to him if he stayed too long out of his own skin, but he could already feel himself slipping away. Which parts of himself were already lost? He had no way of knowing, no way of telling.

              “I promise you, Emrys. I will set this right. I always took the boy to be studios. Quiet. Not a trouble-making bone in his body. This is my responsibility, and I _will_ see justice done.”

              The hawk crooned a comforting little sound to him, sensing his discomfort and trying to ease his temper in the only way it could comprehend. It too was changing.

###

             

             

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only 3 more chapters to go!


	8. Attack

###

AQUITANE

              Merlin delayed his departure for as long as possible. No one gave the sparrow-hawk a second look in Murdoch’s castle. There were rumors and accusations flying everywhere, and _everyone_ was searching for Leif.

              To no avail. None of the guards had seen him leave the castle in his own body. Merlin they had seen, tripping over his own feet, and walking like he had some kind of brain injury. Trevellar questioned everybody at length.

              When at last someone noted a storm approaching over the mountains he turned to the hawk and sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “You have to go. There’s a storm on the horizon and you can’t fly those kinds of winds.”

              _I’m not going anywhere until you find him,_ Merlin said grimly, flexing his talons.

              “You have to,” Trevellar said. “You have to be ready to return to your body or all of this will be for nothing. I don’t know what he’s planning or what kind of poison he’s feeding Arthur, but it’s going to be big and it’s going to be bad.”

              Merlin let out a squawk of impatience.

              “I know. But, I promise you—”

              _What about these diviners you were so proud of? What about your magic? Why can’t you find him? You’re the court sorcerer of Aquitane!_

“Please trust me, Merlin.”

              _I did_ , Merlin said. _You told me to get out of my own body. You told me I would be safe here, and that Arthur would be safe. Every single one of those promises has been broken._

“If you don’t fly back now,” Trevellar said with forced calml. “You will be trapped here until the storm moves on. I’m trying to tell you that you might not have that time to waste.”

              Merlin ruffled his feathers and stretched his wings. He snapped his beak in anger, but he saw sense in what the sorcerer was saying. _If I can’t get back_ , he muttered to Trevellar in his mind. _You need to get to Arthur and tell him what happened. I don’t care what you have to do to get him to believe it._

Trevellar nodded. Merlin launched himself off the rafters and out the nearest window. The air was cold and still outside the castle walls, but as he climbed, the winds grew stronger and colder, drawing him to ever faster speeds.

              The sparrowhawk sensed the storm in its very marrow, and it was forced to fight every instinct it had to find shelter and hide from the storm. But it bowed his head and forced its wings taut to catch as much of the wind as possible.

              Camelot raced towards them from the horizon.

###

CAMELOT

              Two days in Camelot’s backwards infirmary, felt more like two months. The Conclave, or what was left of them after the disastrous attack on Murdoch’s council, hadn’t sent any word yet on whether they would follow his new plan. Until they did, he had to lie here and feign sleep to avoid further endangering his position.

              He always had to do _everything_ alone. The Conclave was more than useless, they were dangerously inept. Until he had taken on Merlin’s body and tasted true power, he hadn’t been able to see that. Now even with the strange visions of leering faces and monstrous creatures in the shadows, he saw more and more clearly. Once they had played their part, the Conclave would have to be… cleansed. Culled. There would only be one supreme sorcerer in Albion.

              Heat seared down Leif’s spine and he gasped involuntarily. Merlin’s magic fought him at every opportunity. Even in Merlin’s vessel, the raw power the sorcerer wielded flayed every bond he tried to set on it. The old man, Gaius, was at his side immediately, swiping weathered hands against his forehead. “It’s alright, Merlin.”

              But there was worry in the old fool’s voice. He had no idea what was wrong, and his false comforts were starting to grate on Leif’s nerves. He controlled the pain and opened his eyes to see Gaius’s face far too close to his own.

              “It’s nothing,” he rasped. “Just… a nightmare.”

              The man behind Gaius, Percival, settled back into his chair as Gaius muttered something about a potion to help him sleep, and turned to his stores of herbs and elixers. Leif paid neither of them any attention. He half listened to the old man fall back in conversation with Arthur’s knight. Their topics were superficial and brittle. They knew something was wrong, but they hadn’t put him in the cells or burned him yet. They weren’t _sure_.

              He cursed himself for his mistakes. He had walked Merlin’s body into three different fights on the way to Arthur’s castle. He had taken every hit, every cut. He had been _convincing_ when he had made his entrance into the throne room.

              But had underestimated them. He had been sure that Arthur wouldn’t kill his manservant, but he had also been certain that the king of Camelot would jump at the chance to eliminate a magical threat in Aquitane.

              It could have been so _easy_.

              He hadn’t foreseen the amount of raw magic in Merlin either. It _burned_ every inch of his soul. It wasn’t just the body trying to reject him, though the fever and shadowy visions were a nuisance. The magic of Emrys bucked and wheeled like a horse trying to unseat its rider.

              On the rare occasion he did gain control and tried even the simplest, smallest spell, magic forced itself through him crashing against the tentative reigns and channels he tried to erect in its path. Even something as simple as summoning water into a cup had soaked him and his bedsheets. His hasty attempt to dry everything before his wardens returned had scalded his legs and back with hot, fresh steam.

              He had more power than he had ever dreamed of possessing.  Once he managed to control it, he would be unstoppable. He wouldn’t need Arthur, or the conclave. He could claim all of Albion in a single day.

              “Merlin?” Gaius asked tentatively, returning to his bedside. “Merlin, can you sit up?”

              Leif accepted the old man’s help, but didn’t take the sleeping draught he was offered. He didn’t need to sleep. Not yet. “What time is it?” he asked, taking up his cup of water from the shelf next to his bed instead.

              “Sometime past midnight,” Percival informed him, sweeping a shower of wood shavings off his lap. He had been whittling for hours, and a whole row of ever-improving toy animals lined the bench next to him.

              “You should drink the potion,” Gaius said. “You need to rest.”

              Leif opened his mouth to make up a reason he couldn’t drink whatever disgusting mixture the physician had put together when he saw the rat scurry along the edge of the room, pausing between Percival’s feet to wave. The Conclave. Finally.

              He quickly refocussed his eyes on the old man. “Thank you,” he said. “Do you think I could sleep in my own bed tonight?”

              Gaius’s eyebrows rose. “I need to keep an eye on that fever.”

              “I’m feeling much better,” he said. “I’m just not… comfortable.”

              He didn’t miss the way Gaius and Percival’s eyes met. A silent question. A silent shrug.

               “I’m not going to go anywhere,” he promised with an exasperated sigh. “You can guard the door. I’d just really like some privacy… I can’t sleep while everybody gawks at me like a carnival attraction. I’m not going to suddenly burst into flame just because _can_.”

              Percival huffed a laugh at that. “You can check on him just as easily up there,” he said, jerking his head towards the door at the back of the room, which Leif had assumed led to a pantry or supply closet.

              The knight helped Leif out of the bed, slinging one of Merlin’s arms around his shoulders as they walked towards Merlin’s room. Gaius brought up the lead, carrying extra blankets and the potion he had so carefully concocted.

               The rat scurried ahead of them through the shadows and slipped under the door. It was a small bedroom, full of dust and cluttered storage. Leif had to carefully still his face from betraying his disgust.

              It took all his effort to smile gratefully as Percival deposited him on the bed. “I’ll be outside.” He said.

              A comfort or warning, Leif couldn’t tell which one was meant. He nodded, lying back with a grimace as Gaius fussed around his bed. He bore it as patiently as he could, but in the end it was just too aggravating to have the old man lingering around when _news_ awaited him. “I’m fine,” he snapped. “I just want to rest. Alone.”

              “Of course,” Gaius said. “If you need anything, just… just call.”

              He shut the door gently, and as it closed Leif sprung from the bed to lock it. The rat came scurrying out of the shadows. Leif focused on it intently, clawing through the rats mind to find purchase on the spirit trying to communicate with him.

              _Where have you been?_ he hissed.

              The rat shrugged. _We are outside the gates. We got your message and we agree to the terms, the six of us who are still free. Even with magic on our side, we are outnumbered. Are you ready?_

              Leif took a deep breath and smiled, stretching his arms out in front of his body. “Of course.”

              He closed his eyes and gripped the reigns of his borrowed power. It thrashed against him, but he kept his grip firm. He didn’t care at all what the side-effects of this spell could be. The more powerful it was, the better. Camelot would only fall harder and faster.

###

AQUITANE

              Trevellar watched as Merlin fast became a dark speck against the increasingly cloudy sky. It wasn’t long afterwards that the first fat drops of rain began to slap against the castle walls.

              He couldn’t linger for long.

              He had searched every room, rummaged through every book looking for a locating spell or an identifying artifact. But Leif’s body wasn’t _Leif_ , and the boy didn’t have enough magic to trace. He was resourceful and talented, but not naturally gifted. It was one of the reasons Trevellar had taken an interest in teaching him.

              He leaned against the bannister above the grand entrance hall. Servants were running in, soaking wet from only a few moments out in the growing storm. He shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably and walked back down to his workroom for the hundredth time that day. He had traced every possible route from his chambers were Leif had stabbed him, to where Merlin’s body had lain empty and waiting.

              He had found nothing. No trace of even the clothes Leif had been wearing. Merlin had even flown the routes by air, and with the eyes of a hawk he couldn’t see what hidey-hole Leif could have been using.

              Leif was resourceful. And talented. Why had Jack trusted him so much? He had barely known the boy as it turned out. He dug his hands into the pockets of his breeches and paced the length of the rich red carpet, following the wet footprints.

              He frowned. And stopped.

              The mud tracked down the hall was _white_. He cast a glance around the walls, at the complicated friezes depicting the ancient miracles and battles of Meroveus all in white marble. He had walked these halls so often he had never stopped to actually _look_ at the frozen people.

              They were fantastically detailed, a carryover from an old king who had insisted that his ancestor Meroveus be immortalized in stone by the best magical sculptors in the empire. That kind of power had long ago faded, there were less trivial things for magic to be channeled into.

              He knelt and felt the dust tread firmly into the weave. It was fine and soft. Halfway between sand and chalk.

              Leif was in the walls.

              He was _in_ the walls.

              Trevellar stood and began to walk again, running his hand over every face, squinting at the features of every soldier, every victim portrayed in stone. Because one of them… was going to wake up.

###

CAMELOT

              The spell worked its way through the castle like a sickness. The guards at the gates went first, collapsing like rag dolls. The few servants still awake at this hours slumped in the midst of their duties. Leif let his power ripple through the castle, each tendril finding a soul to seize into and bend to his will.

              He was so engrossed in his work that he didn’t hear the door open, but when Gaius’s tentative voice broke through his concentration, his anger rose violently. He was done hiding.

              “Merlin? What are you doing?”

              Without breaking the rhythm of his spell, Leif shot a hand out, thrusting Gaius backwards out of the room. The old man crashed into the opposite wall and hung here, suspended between Leif’s power and the hard stone.

              Gaius groaned. Leif could _feel_ the old man’s bones creak. He pressed a little harder, gathering more power— he could squash the old fool like a grape.

              Percival’s blade pressed up against his throat. “Easy,” he said steadily. “There’s no need for that.”

              Leif bared his teeth. “I could level this castle and everyone inside it to _ash_ before you could even draw blood.”

              The sword pressed into his neck, forcing him to tilt his jaw away. “Who are you?”

              “I’m Emrys,” Leif breathed. He smiled and with the tiniest flick of his hand, he let Percival’s sword spinning out of the knight’s hand.

              Gaius collapsed to the floor of the chamber, released. “Guards!” Percival called, standing his ground and putting up his fists as if he planned on fighting magic with muscle.

              The guards outside the infirmary did not answer. The lack of response seemed to unsettle Percival, and after the satisfaction of watching the huge knight wrestle with his own fear, Leif _rammed_ a blow to his chest.

              It wasn’t even much of an effort to push the knight the same way Gaius had gone. While they were both struggling to regain their balance, Leif stole their consciousness. Someone from the Conclave would finish them off, if the spell hadn’t stopped their hearts entirely.

###

              Merlin saw the crumpled guards at the gate for far and high away. Magic, still unreachable to him, was heavy in the air all around the castle. With a furious scream of rage Merlin dropped down, straining his wings into a dive and then snapping them open to glide straight into the castle doors, left wide open by its invaders.

              There was one by the doors, clearly a lookout, but not expecting to be attacked by a rather small ball of feathers and talons. The hawk went for the eyes first, talons outstretched and wings beating furiously to distract and confuse their prey.

              It was a woman in dark robes and while she lifted her hands and managed to shoot a spell of at them, their ambush was overwhelmingly effective. Their talons gouged into her face, blinding her almost instantaneously. Merlin couldn’t tell if they had managed to find the soft parts of her eyes or there was just too much blood for her to see through. Either way he left her stumbling around, cursing and crying for help that would never come.

              Merlin didn’t stay to watch. The next man he found was Gwaine, slumped in a doorway, half dressed. He stopped briefly to try and wake him up, but the knight was deep in unnatural sleep. As a hawk Merlin could do _nothing_.

              Except follow the thread of magic locking his friend in place. He pulled the hawk away from Gwaine’s body and raced through the halls, becoming more confident as he realized where exactly the sorcerer in his body was hiding.

              Except the door to the infirmary was bloody closed.

              Of course. Merlin hit his beak against the door in frustration only once before heading back the way he had come. The poor sparrow-hawk was exhausted, but it only urged him to fly faster.

###

             

             

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I cut it close today, I'm sorry about that! Next chapter will be out by tomorrow afternoon (Central Time).


	9. Returned

CAMELOT

Now Merlin knew where to look, it wasn’t hard to find Leif. Many windows in the castle were illuminated by candles and fire, but only one was lit by magic. The light was bright red, and burned like a crucible over the sleeping city. It wasn’t Gaius’s chamber, it was his own. Merlin rose over Camelot, digging the hawk’s wings into the air, climbing higher and higher until he felt that their heart might explode with the effort.

He had absolutely no plan. He was helpless. Even now there might be assassins hovering over Arthur and Gwen. He landed on the small ledge in front of his windows, gripping the small shelf with all the strength in his talons.

Inside he could see his own silhouette, his hands moving fluidly, and he could hear his own voice muttering spells. Spells to keep he men and women in the castle sleeping, spells to open doors, and to lock them. Magic spilled out of him, causing the red ball of light in the middle of the room to flicker in time with his words.

The air was supercharged with magic, the sparrow-hawk’s feathers shivered with the energy around them. Merlin dug their small beak between the glass and the wooden pane, searching for a weakness to exploit.

He didn’t expect the window to be abruptly thrown open, almost pushing him off the ledge. The force nearly broke his beak, and caused an explosion of pain behind the hawk’s eyes. It was agony unlike anything Merlin could have experienced as a human, and he shrieked out his surprise and anger at the face that appeared in the window.

Leif smiled with Merlin’s mouth. “I wondered when you were going to get here!” he shouted over the rush of wind around them. “I thought you’d fluttered off to squawk at Murdoch!”

Merlin had never been on the receiving end of him magic before. It felt like a giant hand had closed around his body, trapping his wings against his chest and constricting the breath out of his already starved lungs.

The force dragged him into the room of red light. Leif grinned madly. “It is about the time we should talk, isn’t it?”

Unlike Trevellar, who had politely asked for entrance into his mind, Leif burned through Merlin’s mind to steal the thoughts out of his head.

Fortunately, most of those thoughts were centered around how much Merlin was going to enjoy ripping Leif into bloody, bite-sized pieces.

“More hawk than human left in there,” he said with a laugh, tapping the side of the hawk’s already bruised beak. “You should have taken a wolf, or a crow. You’d have kept your intelligence a little longer.”

The sparrow-hawk snapped at his finger. Too slowly. Leif retracted his fingers but left Merlin hovering in the air, paralyzed by his inviable bonds.

_ What are you doing to the castle? _ Merlin snarled in his mind, the image of assassins in the night quickly stolen from his mind by Leif. 

“Well, of course, I’m going to enjoy killing Arthur,” the sorcerer said. “But these things are better done in public, where my new subjects can see  _ true _ power. My servants are rounding up the knights as well—the heroes of Camelot will be put in the cells for now. After Arthur’s head is rolling over the courtyard, they’ll burned in an encore. It’s all very… civilized. No battles, no armies, no squabbling dignitaries.”

_ Camelot will fight you,  _ Merlin snarled.

Leif shrugged and spread his fingers wide, feeding more and more magic into his spell. Merlin could see the tremor in his hands, and the sweat gathering on his face. His face, gaunt from hard travel and illness, was drawn tight with pain.

Merlin knew that pain. It was familiar. It was an ache that went deeper than a knife wound. He was losing his mind to the instincts of a hawk, but Leif… Leif was doing something much more dangerous.

“This is my power now,” Leif said. “I was going to kill you, and return to Camelot with my own body, my own power. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to control a kingdom without magic. But this…” he gestured to the threads weaving around the room, the blood-red light that illuminated them both. “Now I am a  _ god _ . I will find a way to bend this body to my will and I will keep it. There is a way. There is _ always _ a way. You don’t deserve this power, you couldn’t even summon a twig when Trevellar met you.”

_We’re dying, Leif_. Merlin said softly _. Can’t you feel it?_

“Is that what Jack Trevellar told you? He was a _fool_. Feeble. He groveled to Murdoch like you did to Arthur-- Slave to a master he could crush with a snap of his fingers. The court sorcerer of Aquitane begged on his knees like a child when I killed him. I am _supreme_.”

_ You didn’t kill him _ . 

The power around the room wavered. “What?”

_ He’s alive. He’s looking for your body right now. _

__ “Impossible,” the sorcerer said, but his eyes darted around the room with sudden alarm, as if his old master could jump from any shadow. “He was… I killed him.”

_ You certainly tried your hardest, _ Merlin wished that he could smile as a hawk.  _ And he didn’t appreciate it very much. _

__ _ ### _

__ AQUITANE

It took far too long to find him. Trevellar enlisted everyone he could trust, and still he couldn’t be  _ sure _ that Leif hadn’t been overlooked until he had gone over every inch of the moldings himself.

And indeed, one of the stable-boys had indeed passed over Leif’s frozen features without recognizing him. The traitorous sorcerer had taken the place of a soldier on horseback, carrying a pennant and shouting a call to the battlefield ahead of him.

The storm raged on outside and the rain drummed around his ears as he raised his arms and  _ tugged _ his apprentice out of his hiding place with no regard for the frieze that surrounded him. In all honestly, Trevellar had been aching to destroy every inch of the marble frieze for  _ hours _ .

Leif’s body descended slowly to the hall floor, regaining its color. The marble finish faded from his skin and Jack was left looking at that man he had  _ really  _ wanted to see.

###

CAMELOT

Even without being able to see magic, Merlin knew the moment Trevellar began his work. Leif froze, and the smile dropped from his borrowed face. “No,” he whispered. “ _ No _ .”

Merlin and the hawk crowed their triumph. The magic holding them in the air faltered. They barely had time to soften their landing before they were dropped onto the threadbare carpet. The red light flickered out, and in its wake moonlight flooded into the chambers, cool and natural. The threads of power around them shifted. Flickered.

_ Send Jack my best _ , Merlin said, righting himself and fluffing out his chest. 

A distant scream echoed from outside. Leif’s co-conspirators were probably now guiding a  _ very _ angry herd of well-trained knights. Merlin readied himself to leave the hawk, it crooned a little as it realized it was losing him.

Leif’s dagger flashed blindingly white in the darkness—a sliver of moonlight in Merlin’s empty chambers.  _ What are you doing? _ Merlin asked, fluttering his wings in agitation.

“Then no one should have this power,” Leif muttered. “No one.”

A split second before it happened, Merlin saw what Leif was about to do. He screeched out his horror and fear as the blade dug into his human arm. Dark, arterial blood followed the progress of the blade from forearm to wrist, pumping dark waves against his skin. 

_ No!  _ Merlin dove at Leif, too late. He fluttered helplessly, his mind suddenly blank.

Leif tried to pass the knife to that same hand, but the blood was clearly too slippery and his fingers wouldn’t close around the handle. The metal clattered to the floor and there were tears of pain and shock in Leif’s eyes, but he was boasting his victory still. “You’ll die here,” he said. “A pathetic slave to the end. No one will even remember your name, much less the deeds of  _ Emrys _ .”

He stumbled to the wall and slid down to the base. There was blood everywhere, over everything, pooling on the chamber floor.

Merlin screamed his fury and fear through the throat of the poor, confused sparrow-hawk. Leif smiled. “It’s…” he said. “I can…”

His voice faded away. He was losing too much blood, but he held on for as long as he could, staving off the tendrils of Jacks spell pulling him like a rotten tooth until he couldn’t resist. He lost his grip, and vanished. Merlin felt the boy’s spirit scramble out of his body and fly out the window. Nobody was coming, he was  _ dying _ . Again.

He could feel the phantom emptiness, the same fade that had driven him out of his body in the first place. Panicking, with no plan. Merlin launched himself out of the open window, but could only climb up, up, to Arthurs window. It was open to the cool night breeze and he pushed inside, his wings tangling on the curtains, screeching as loudly as possible.

“Avis?” Gwen’s voice was ragged with sleep. “Avis! What are you doing?”

“Stupid bird,” Arthur’s voice muttered, but his hands were gentle helping him escape from the folds of the curtain. In his panic, Merlin’s talons gouged at the skin of the king’s palms, and the blood only made his mission clearer.

He screamed his panic, wrenching his wings trying to fly from Arthur’s hands. He had to get them to  _ move. _ In his surprise at the bird’s desperation, Arthur lost his grip on Merlin’s legs and Merlin took the opportunity to fly at the door, hitting it beak-first.

“Avis!” Arthur barked out a command, as if he were calling his hound to attention. Merlin landed on the ground, still crying out and fluttering his wings. He pecked at the door as hard as he could in the breaks between his screeches.

“What does he want?” Gwen asked, a laugh ready at the back of her throat.

“Something’s wrong,” Arthur said, padding to the door in his bare feet. He nudged Merlin away from the door with his foot so he could open it and Merlin immediately took into flight again, out into the hallway.

Leon was already outside, his sword already wet with blood. Elyan close behind him and the two guards that had been at Arthurs door were slumped against the wall, just starting to wake from their magically induced dreams.

Leon stopped in the middle of the hall, reaching up with a clumsy hand to catch Merlin as he swooped past. Merlin looked back to see Arthur pulling his sword his sheath. “What’s going on?” Arthur asked.

“We’re under attack,” Elyan called. “Sorcerers have breached the castle.”

Merlin screamed out his impatience. There was no time, He bobbed his head and launched off Leon, down the hall. Arthur was following him at a wild dash, not waiting for his knights to follow. Merlin could feel the tenuous thread on his own body starting to collapse. He was suddenly unbearably tired, even as adrenaline raced through his body, he was dying. He was going to die.

He flew past the throne room, Where Gwaine appeared in his nightclothes, a dagger gleaming red at his side and a wild gleam in his eyes. His face lit up as his gaze fell on Avis. “You’re back--!”

But Avis’s wings brushed past him. To Gaius’s rooms where Percival was helping Gaius onto onfe of the cots. “Merlin—” he tried to say, but Arthur was already racing past him, up the short stairs, and to the door to his old chambers.

Without hesitating, Arthur slammed his shoulder into the door. The wood splintered under his weight and he staggered into the room. He must have felt the blood on his feet first. He was barefoot.

The king looked down, at the pools of blood, the largest of which had stopped growing around Merlin’s human body. “Merlin?” the king whispered. “Merlin? What--“

The rest of them stopped, even Gwaine, as they took in the scene in front of them. “He—” Percival started to say, but seemed to suddenly run out of words. 

The knife still glittered in the moonlight, but Merlin’s chest wasn’t moving. There was no spirit there to animate his chest. It was what had bought him time to fetch Arthur—his body hadn’t had a pulse to push any more blood out.

But that would mean that they would think he was dead. With no pulse, no breath, they wouldn’t even try to save him. 

Arthur was kneeling over his body, slapping his cheeks. “Merlin you  _ idiot! Merlin! _ ”

Without a second’s more hesitation Merlin threw himself out of the bird’s body and back into himself. It was like returning to his own bed after a long hunting trip. His spirit stretched out luxuriously into the right shape. Everything felt… right. The hawk at his side crooned and rubbed its head against his wrist. All he wanted to do was fall asleep, comfortable for the first time in over a week. His well of magic was depleted after Leif’s use, but it too thrummed to his weakening touch.

But he couldn’t fall asleep, not yet, he had to give the king a sign, he had to  _ move _ . It was damn hard. His whole being wanted to pull back down into unconsciousness, but he had to—

He opened his eyes for the first time, to see Arthur’s haggard face in glorious detail and color. “Arthur?” he groaned.

Immediately there was a sharp sting in his arm, and uncomfortable pressure as Arthur tied tourniquet around his bicep. The king was muttering unintelligible threats and pleas under his breath, all of them addressed at Merlin.

But the young wizard just grinned up at the low ceiling of his own room, tipsy with relief at being in his own body. There were people all around him. He couldn’t tell if they were shouting or whispering. Everything else was fast slipping away, he was dying. Leif was going to win. Was he already back in his body, facing the wrath of Jack Trevellar?

“Thank you,” Merlin said to Arthur, his voice cracked and hoarse, but his was  _ his _ voice. It felt so good to finally use it.

“Oh, god. Merlin.” Arthur said, and Merlin was surprised to hear the emotion in Arthur’s voice. The tremble of fear and anger. “Damn you and your secrets. I knew there was something wrong.”

“I didn’t want to,” Merlin muttered weakly.

“I asked you to talk to me,” Arthur said. “I would have listened. Why didn’t you tell me, Merlin? You’re my friend. I thought we were friends.”

Arthur was shaking him, trying to keep him awake, but the world was spinning, and he felt so sick. 

_ I don’t want to die _ , he thought he said, but he couldn’t be sure that the words had even left his lips. He was drowning in blackness. He felt the familiar urge to flee his body as the pain and panic began to overwhelm him, but he fought against it.

He was finally home, and no matter what happened, he was going to stay.

# # #

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploaded from my phone. In a car. I'll fix it later, I promise. I just don't know if I'll be home by midnight.


	10. A Good Start

# # #

              CAMELOT

              “Maybe he knew that his spell had failed, and he didn’t want to be caught,” Leon offered to the silence.

              “He could have easily killed us,” Percival said. “He wasn’t afraid at all. He said he could raze the castle and I believed him. He wasn’t like any sorcerer we’ve ever faced. ”

              It was dark in the council room, and the lanterns were burning low, but no one wanted to return to bed. Avis, the sparrow-hawk, had calmed down, and chattered amiably at his human companions, picking at a plate heaped high with every sort of treat the kitchens could supply for their little guest of honor.

              Gwaine preened the bird with his fingers, drawing pleased little noises from the hawk. “And I thought you didn’t like Merlin,” he said, his voice crackling with exhaustion and strain.

              “He said his name was Emrys,” Percival grumbled. “Not Merlin.”

              “No,” Gaius said, the first time he had spoken since Arthur had ordered Merlin bound to the bed. “Impossible.”

              “Why?” Arthur asked. “Who is Emrys?”

              Gaius looked up at Arthur with a strange, wistful expression on his face. “Emrys is a creature of the old religion. The druids believe he will revive the Old Religion, and unite Albion under the New religion in an era of peace.”

              “He _was_ powerful,” Arthur pointed out, “but I don’t think he wanted peace. His sorcerers killed innocents. Sleeping soldiers. If this Emrys--”

              “Emrys _is_ Merlin,” Gaius broke in angrily. “That’s what the druids call him, and he believed it was his destiny.”

              “Merlin wouldn’t hurt you,” Arthur said gently. “I may not trust anything else I know about him, but he would _never_ do anything to harm you.”

              “Or you, Arthur. Or Any of you.” He said, looking around the table at each of them in turn. Leon nursed a magical burn on his ribs. Gwaine’s head was matted with blood where he had been thrown against a column. Elyan slumped in his chair over the makeshift sling Gaius had constructed. Only Arthur and Gwen’s had escaped from the fight, but their clothes were still bloodied with Merlin’s blood. “He wouldn’t bring harm to any one of you. He would rather—”

              He choked on a breath, looking away until he could speak again. “He would rather die.”

              Arthur nodded slowly. He waited for the old man to regain his breath before he spoke again. “You know Merlin better than any of us, Gaius. What do you think is happening?”

              “I don’t know,” Gaius admitted. “But I… I don’t think it’s Merlin, and if it’s not Merlin then it’s not Emrys.”

              “Then why did we save his life?” Leon growled.

              Avis suddenly let out a screech and flapped his wings on the table, upsetting Gwen’s goblet and causing Gwaine to jump back in surprise. The bird strutted confidently across the table to stand in front of Arthur, muttering angrily.

              Six pairs of eyes took in this behavior with varying degrees of concern. Arthur, however tapped his fingers against the table as he met the bird’s eyes. “Avis,” he said. “You know something?”

              The bird dipped its head down and knocked his beak twice on the table.

               Gwen gasped and Elyan’s uninjured hand dropped to the sword on his lap. It was Gwaine who interrupted the tense silence that the bird’s odd behavior had caused.

              “If he’s a sorcerer,” Gwaine said firmly, “then he’s one of the good ones.”

              _One of the good ones_. It rolled through the chamber, but no one spoke up against it. There were good sorcerers.

               “If he hadn’t…” Arthur shivered, remembering the half-crazed ball of feathers and talons hurtling through the window. He shook his head as more of that memory began to invade his mind. The blood. Merlin’s body in his arms as he carried him down to Gaius, too light to be healthy. “He saved… Merlin. No one would have found him…. In time.”

              “We still have no answers,” Leon said, then paused. “Avis… Is that Merlin? Did we save Merlin?”

              The bird turned to consider him, then dipped down again. Tapped twice.

              “Did he let the sorcerers inside the castle?”

              Avis jerked his head sideways in a clear denial.

              “Is he enchanted?”

              At this, Avis stared at him and cocked his head. “I think he’s confused,” Elyan said drily.

              Leaon huffed in frustration, his voice rising with his temper. “If it’s Merlin, why was he acting so strangely? Why did he hurt Gaius and Percival? Why did he try to kill himself? None of it makes any _sense_.”

              Avis took off and landed on the back of Gwaine’s chair. He squawked indignantly at Leon.

              “Maybe whatever Trevellar did to him,” Percival said, his face pale. “maybe it… broke him. Messed with his head. Maybe the sorcerers were coming for him. He said Trevellar wouldn’t let him go.”

              “If the Aquitani found out he was Emrys,” Gaius said slowly, “They might have thought they could control him. He would be an invaluable prisoner if they could keep him. If he thought they were going to use him against you, Arthur, he would do _anything--_ ”

              Percival nodded, his brows furrowed in thought as he worked through this scenario. “Maybe he just didn’t want me or Gaius to… to interfere while he…”

              “No,” Gwaine interrupted, slamming a hand on the table to stop Percival’s words. “Merlin wouldn’t kill himself.”

              “It makes sense,” Arthur said softly. “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

              “No, it doesn’t,” Gwaine said emphatically. “Merlin wouldn’t—"

“If you have a better explanation for any of this, I’d like an alternative as well.” Arthur said.

              The council stared at him, and Avis, sensing Gwaine’s distress, crooned a soft little sound in an attempt to comfort the knight. His effort was in vain. Gwaine swept the chair back from the table, unseating Avis from his perch. He flew back to the table and screeched indignantly at Gwaine’s retreating back.

              ###

              CAMELOT

              Merlin woke with a gasp. The world tipped around him. He was on his back, exposed, unable to spread his wings. He pulled at his shoulders, trying to roll over, but a fresh wave of panic overtook him as he realized that he had been _tied_ to the bed.

              His eyes flew open, and a confusion of movement and color met his eyes. The world was out of focus and blurry, he was blind. He opened his mouth to screech his anger and fear, but a very human scream burst out of his throat.

              “Easy,” someone above him said. “You’ve been asleep for days.”

              The sound was muffled, as if there was water trapped in his hears. Merlin cocked his head, trying to understand what was happening.

              And _then_ he remembered he wasn’t a bird. He tried to blink the blurriness out of his eyes before someone wiped a wet cloth over his face.

              The feeling of no control didn’t help very much with his anxiety, but he took deep, calming breaths until he could frown up at the face above him.

              Gwaine. Gwaine with a face like a thunder-head and deep shadows under his eyes.

              “I am _very_ glad to see you,” Merlin huffed out in a voice that sounded very foreign in his own ears.

              “Funny,” Gwaine said, the word coming out of his mouth short and sharp.

              “Oh.” A spike of pain shot up his bound-up arm. “I can explain.”

              “I’ll fetch Arthur.”

               Gawine’s face disappeared and the stool scraped back from the bed.

              “Gwaine? Wait, Gwaine!” Merlin called. “Just tell me everyone is alright! I swear it wasn;t—”

              His friend’s face reappeared above him and Merlin shrank away from the fury blazing in Gwaine’s eyes. “What were you thinking? Do you have any idea--?” his voice broke and he looked away, as if the sight of Merlin was unbearable.

              A swell of righteous anger filled Merlin, he listed his had up just as much as his bonds would allow. “You nearly got yourself killed in a _bar_ fight. What were _you_ thinking? _‘_ Sir Gwaine, stabbed to death in an alley with a _spoon?’_ Or ‘Sir Gwaine, drank himself to death on watered down horse-piss?’ Or would else be too damn _noble_? That was stupid, even for you.”

              He had touched a nerve. Gwaine clenched a hand over Merlin’s restrained wrist. The bandages were only loosely held on with gauze and his wound had been rubbed with fat to keep any infection at bay, and the gauze from sticking.

              The line of stitched flesh was long and ugly. Merlin stared down at them, suddenly feeling sick and dizzy. “That’s what you did,” Gwaine said softly. “That’s what you forced Gaius to do, what Arthur had to bind up. What _Gwen_ had to clean. What we all bloody saw. That was cruel, even for _you_.”

              Merlin took a deep, steadying breath, tearing his eyes away from the wound. “Gwaine—”

              “I’m going to fetch Arthur,” Gwaine said, and this time, despite Merlin’s pleas, he didn’t come back.

              With an exasperated sigh Merlin closed his eyes and sliced through the loose cotton bandages that bound him to the cot. He sat up and the world spun again. He closed his eyes and focused on remaining upright until the room slowed, and the pounding in his head receded.

              He looked down at his wrist and ran his fingers down the stitches. The flesh was still tender. His eyes burned with tears, grief, anger, relief, they warred for space in his head. His body felt strange to him still, it was tempting to try and take off into flight.

              The door to the infirmary opened, and his first visitor was Avis. The bird swooped in through the door with a cry of welcome and excitement. He landed on the bed-spread next to merlin, immediately getting his claws tangles in the sheets.

              “Hey you,” Merlin said fondly, reaching down to scratch Avis’s neck in the itchiest spot. He knew from personal experience just where to dig his fingers. The bird closed his eyes and leaned into the touch like a cat.

              “I see his sudden change of heart is mutual. I was afraid he was going to try and claw your eyes out again if we let him in.” The king of Camelot crossed through the doorway, closing it behind him.

              Merlin said nothing, but watched him approach with wary caution. It was the first time since he had revealed his power that he and the king had spoken. Arthur seemed at just as much of a loss as he was.

              “Is Gwaine alright?” Merlin tried.

              Arthur nodded. “Gaius is talking him down. You scared them pretty badly, Merlin.”

              “I didn’t— It wasn’t me, Arthur. You have to _know_ that.”

              Arthur didn’t answer. He drew up the stool that Gwaine had kicked out of the way. They were eye level, and Merlin was the first to look away. He wasn’t sure why he felt so self-conscious.

              “Are you going to talk to me?” Arthur asked quietly, when the silence became too deep. “No more secrets? No more lies? Or am I going to have to _trust_ that you’re not going to open any more veins?”

              Merlin stood, and locked his knees as they threatened to collapse underneath him. He wavered for a moment, leaning heavily on Gaius’s desk. Arthur didn’t help him, but continued to gaze at him with an expression Merlin had never seen before and couldn’t quite place. “Arthur, I’m… I’m _fine_. I didn’t try to—”

              “You’ve been fighting battles alone for too long,” Arthur said. “But you’re not a soldier, Merlin. What happened in Aquitane was inexcusable and Trevellar will pay for what he had done. You should have trusted _me_ to see to that. Just because I wouldn’t allow you in a war council doesn’t mean that we weren’t going to--”

              “No,” Merlin said. “Arthur, I wasn’t tortured in Aquitane. Jack was helping me, he saved my life…. Twice.”

              The king shook his head. “You can’t trust your own memories right now Merlin. Whatever they did to you, it’s addled your memories. Messed with your thoughts. If not for Avis vouching for you, you’d be in the cells right now, being tried as an imposter.”

              “Avis?” Merlin said, suddenly side-tracked. He looked down at the bird who returned his gaze with with wide, adoring eyes. “But—”

              Arthur leaned back in his chair, his brooding gaze on the bird. “To be honest I’ve been tempted to lock you in the cells _many_ times, but now that I know they wouldn’t be able to hold you anyway it seems like a pretty empty threat."

              “You have to believe me—”

              “I can’t believe you,” Arthur interrupted. “Merlin, I don’t know _what_ to believe anymore, but I don’t know _anything_ about you. It’s making it very hard to believe anything you say to me now. You’ve spent years lying to me, at least that much is fact.”

              Merlin swallowed.

              “First, you save my life using your magic, which I have come to learn is quite literally _legendary_. Then you return from the dead, to ask me about princesses that don’t exist. You throw Gaius against a wall, and the next thing I know you’re bleeding out your life in a locked—"

              “Freya was a druid,” Merlin interrupted suddenly. Arthur’s jaw snapped shut. “She was cursed—a chimera. I helped her hide, but… I couldn’t. you killed her. I don’t blame you, it’s… she hated being a murderer. I still love her, but I don’t… It wasn’t your fault.”

              Merlin looked away, feeling the old grief well again. “I didn’t think you were ready to hear any of this,” he whispered. “I was starting to think you’d never be ready, but I was wrong. Arthur, I’m so sorry.”

              Arthur was staring at him. “Keep going,” he prompted quietly.

              It wasn’t even hard, Merlin hadn’t realized that he was keeping a list of his secrets until he was running through them, floundering in the stream of words that could never fully explain what had been happening in Camelot.

              “You didn’t kill the dragon. His name is Kilgharrah, and I convinced him to leave Camelot. I still ask him for advice sometimes. I can do that—I’m the son of Balinor the Dragonlord. The first time we met I used magic to stop you from taking my head off.”

              “And Dragoon?” Arthur asked, and Merlin swallowed. How did Arthur know about that?

              “That was me. With an ageing spell. I only ever wanted to help you, but it backfired. Badly. I’m so sorry Arthur. I just didn’t have any idea what I was doing. As usual.”

              “And the princess?”

              Merlin frowned, the river of words suddenly stopped. “What princess?” he asked. “…Mithian? Or Vivian? I didn’t have anything to do with any of that. I swear to you. I was just... I was trying to help.”

              The silence between them deepened, and Merlin’s heart raced. His hands were shaking. He had ben tired when he woke, but now he was full of nervous, jittering energy. He folded his arms across his chest and tried hard to breathe normally.

              Arthur was looking at him. Staring at him. The strange, sad expression had left the king’s face, but somehow the completely unreadable expression was worse. Even Avis was quiet, his large, luminous eyes sweeping from Arthur sitting on the stool to Merlin standing by the window.

              Merlin sucked in a breathe, opening his mouth without really knowing what was about to escape when Gwaine came skidding through the door, his eyes wild. “Wait!” he panted, righting himself in the middle of the chamber. ‘I didn’t tell anyone-- How did you know about the _spoon_?”

              Arthur turned his attention slowly from Gwaine’s interruption back to Merlin. “Tell me,” he said slowly and evenly, “exactly what happened in Aquitane.”

              ###

              AQUITANE

              Trevellar supported Murdoch. The king’s weight seemed heaver today as they watched Leif’s body taken away. “Should we send the head to Emrys?” the king mused.

              “No,” Jack said. “I don’t think he’d have any use for it.”

              Murdoch hummed his agreement, and together they turned back to the castle walls. “Are you alright? I know you were fond of the boy.”

              Trevellar grimaced. “Being stabbed seven times in the chest did somewhat change that.”

              “The diviner’s say seven’s a magical number,” Murdoch said cheerfully. “They’re usually right, you know.”

              Trevellar nodded absently. He felt nothing of the king’s humor. He breathed in deeply, so deep that his lungs hurt and his bandaged pulled against his still-healing wounds. He was healing too slowly, and the healers had recommended he not be present at the execution.

              But he had a duty. Not just to Murdoch, but to Leif.

              They walked slowly back through the courtyard to the garden. Jack summoned a breeze to keep them cool. His magic came easily again, some of Merlin’s influence still remained in Aquitane, but there was no telling if it would stay or fade.

              “I’ve received a petition for your services,” the king said. “And I think it’s a reasonable request.”

              Trevellar sighed. “Don’t tell me I have to grow Lady Sorcha’s hedges into dragons again. I don’t care what you say she can—”

              “Oh no, nothing so wasteful,” Murdoch interrupted. “There’s a young man, and he needs a master.”

              Trevellar clenched his hand into a fist and his heart lurched sickeningly. “Your majesty, after everything that’s happened. I _can’t_ just—”

              “Nonsense,” he said. “You should at least meet with the boy. I think you need a bit of a sabbatical, a bit of color.”

              “ _Sabbatical_? Where would I be going?”

              “Camelot,” Murdoch said simply. “There’s a very promising talent, and I can think of no better instructor.”

             

              ###

              CAMELOT

              3 MONTHS LATER

              Arthur’s court was full of people. Nobles, commoners. Soldiers. The hum of conversation vibrated the walls, cutting out every other sound. Avis, seated on Merlin’s shoulder, nibbled affectionately on his ear. The bird was usually to be found with Gwaine, but he was unusually good at recognizing Merlin’s moods and had apparently taken on the duty of easing the warlock’s nerves.

              The thrones were still empty, and while Merlin waited in the wings, dressed in the clothes that he, Gwen, and Arthur had _finally_ agreed were suitable, he was suddenly sure that everything was going to collapse around him.

              “Merlin!”

              Lord Ya-Tiren’s hand clapped onto Merlin’s shoulders heartily and the sorcerer flinched a little. He smiled up at the noble tentatively. “My Lord.”

              “I’m very glad to see you up and about,” the noble said. “Arthur’s been hiding you from court for far too long.”

              “I was… ill.”

              Ya-Tiren’s face twisted into a frown. “I know all about that,” he said. “What those people did to you, and we open our borders to them? I don’t know what Arthur’s thinking.”

              He cast his eyes about the room and leaned closer. “I’ve seen one of them. A sorcerer,” he said quietly.

              “Oh?” Merlin said. His hands were slippery with sweat.

              “You can tell right away. It’s in their eyes.”

              “Right.”

              “Uther wouldn’t stand for this. He was a man who stood his ground.”

              Merlin looked up at the noble. Ya-Tiren’s only son had died almost a decade ago, in an illness that had claimed many of Lord Ya-Tiren’s vassals and servants. Some had said it was a witch’s work, and such an explanation was more attractive than the truth: that sometimes, people just fell ill. Sometimes they died.

              Merlin understood this, and no matter how much the old man railed against sorcerers and magic, he knew that in truth the old man was remembering the helplessness he had felt at his son’s deathbed. The tragedy that his holding had survived. He smiled, though even that small expression made his cheeks hurt. “You’re a good man,” he said to Lord Ya-Tiren. “And I hope… I hope that—”

              “Their Majesties, King Arthur and Queen Guinevere,” a crier shouted, his voice booming over the chatter and cutting through all conversation.

              Arthur and Gwen appeared from the side of the room, walking hand in hand. Merlin’s back straightened and his head bowed in reverence until his friends had taken their seat at the head of the room.

              Jack Trevellar trailed behind them, in his distinctively rich and colorful robes. His appearance drew whispers and conspiratorial glances from the crowd.

              The crier approached the dias and accepted the scroll from Arthur’s hand. A formality carried over from an ancient law.

              He bowed and turned back to the crowd, breaking the seal and unrolling the scroll with practiced smoothly.

              “The king hereby decrees:” he began. “That the practice of magic, and the possession of magic artifacts in Camelot is…” He paused, moving the scroll slightly closer to his eyes. “Recognized and authorized by their majesties, and that—"

              He was drowned out by the whispering and murmuring of the crowd. The crier stopped and looked back to Arthur, as if the king could give him guidance. Merlin’s heartbeat thrummed in his chest. He felt sick. He was going to cost Arthur the throne. They had moved too fast, bargained too heavily on the trust of the people—

              Merlin started to stumble backwards, lose himself in the crowd, but stooped as Arthur drew to his feet, a second later, Gwen stood as well, supporting her king.

              And the chatter did cease.

              “I hereby decree,” Arthur said, his voice louder and more commanding than the crier could ever hope to be. “That the position of court sorcerer be filled by my most trusted servant, and my most loyal friend, Merlin.”

              It was his queue, and while there was a smattering of laughter from the nobles and servants who knew who Arthur was talking to, the hall was strangely quiet.

              As much as Merlin’s feet wanted to turn and run for the nearest exit, he forced himself to move forward. He couldn’t breathe. He was sweating and cold all at the same time. The crowd parted n front of him, their faces a blur. He almost wanted to turn back and see Lord Ya-Tiren’s face.

              But he didn’t. His eyes focused on Arthur and Gwen.

              They stared at him, no hint of a smile on their faces, only confidence. The sight filled him with a strange calm and as he drew closer, his steps became more fluid and breathing became a little easier.

              When at last he stood next to Arthur he turned to face the crowd.

              Shock. Disbelief. Many of the faces were familiar to him, but many were not. Arthur turned and laid a hand on his shoulders. “Don’t mess this up,” he whispered playfully and Merlin fought the irrational urge to punch his king.

              Arthur went back to stand by Gwen, leaving Merlin alone, facing the crowd.

              He stood on display, feeling like a child about to recite a lesson for the class. A lesson he hadn’t properly prepared. “I… I swear my fealty to Camelot. I swear my life to the king, and my service to his citizens.”

              Deafening silence greeted this oath, the oath that Gaius had dug out of the old library records. It wasn’t even as long as the oath that the knights took, or even as complicated as a servant’s contract. At the time Merlin had found the words moving, but now, looking out at the sea of faces, he couldn’t help but hear them again in his head. Empty, meaningless promises that _of course_ they wouldn’t believe.

              He searched the crowd for a friendly face.

              All were still. Slack-jawed.

              But the moment couldn’t last for the eternity it felt like.

              Lord Ya-Tiren wove through the crowd. He was a tall man, instantly recognizable by his black cloak and the shock of white hair he obsessively groomed. The crowd closed behind him. When he reached the edge of the crowd, Lord Ya-Tiren glared up at Merlin.

              Merlin looked down, feeling his heart plummet. He heard the rustle of Arthur’s clothes as the king began to come to his aid.

              The sound of Lord Ya-Tiren’s fist hitting his chest seemed to echo around the chamber louder even than Arthur’s proclamation. The old man gave a shallow bow from the waist, and stayed slightly bent, at the level one would afford to an equal.

              Under Merlin’s astonished gaze, the movement was quickly taken up by the court and the gesture rippled outward. In a wave, men and women nodded. Merlin stood a little straighter, and felt the weight of this approval sit on his shoulders.

              Arthur reappeared at his side and finally there was a smile gracing his handsome face. “It’s a start,” the once and future king said. “A good start.”

             

             


	11. Author's Notes

So. First and last of all, I would like to say thank you. That is the total summary of this author’s note. Thank you for reading, and if you joined me at any time during this awesome 10 day Merlin spree, thank you so much for sticking with me. For some reason I had resigned myself to undertaking this task completely alone, but I know now that I couldn’t have done it without the wonderful responses I received. In fact. Here is a thing that I think adequately describes the transformation I went through between chapter 1 and about chapter 3:

 

 

Merlin will always be a fantastic fandom. The fans are the most encouraging and tolerant of any I’ve ever encountered. I know people will still be sifting through the archives for many years to come, and I _thoroughly_ enjoyed contributing this piece. Every day was an amazing adventure. I know there are many typos and mistakes which I will come back and fix after a few days of rest and relaxation. You guys were… just awesome. Amazing. Thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive typos and errors. I am very sick and writing this in the midst of a fever.


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